


Overlooked

by SunlitGarden



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Betty starts out a bit lonely and naive but yay for character development, Class Differences, Comic characterization, F/M, Jughead and Archie brotherly dynamic, M/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, One-Sided Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Rich Jughead Jones, Selfish Playboy Archie Andrews, Straight-Laced Businessman Jughead Jones who still has a dry sense of humor, Suicide Attempt, background varchie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:58:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Loosely inspired by the 1954 film "Sabrina." Betty grew up the lonely chauffeur's daughter on the Andrews-Jones estate, always longing for the happiness, generosity, and love they exuded as a family. When her father catches wind that she's fond of playboy Archie, he sends her away to France, only for her to return more radiant than ever right as the family is trying to close a deal with Archie's on-and-off again beau Veronica Lodge's family. Jughead takes it upon himself to save the business deal and preemptively clean up his brother's mess. But the more time he invests keeping Betty occupied, the more they both realize how much they may have previously overlooked one another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The film pulled at my brain until I agreed to do a Bughead version. Mind the tags, but if you have any questions please poke me here or on tumblr @lovedinapastlife. Obviously the characters are different than the inspirational material so things don't play out exactly the same but I hope you enjoy this development! When Betty comes back, she's not exactly prepared for a love affair, for example. It's all written so I'll probably do a chapter every other day or so. What do you think? Let me know!

Once upon a time, there lived a small girl who grew up on a very large estate. On this estate, there was a chauffeur and mechanic named Hal Cooper who was of considerable merit and polish, and he had a daughter named Elizabeth, known affectionately as Betty.

 

As a child, Betty was a smart, sweet, and emotional girl, often working hard but getting swept up in ideas with more fervor than what her father thought was appropriate. Even though she was raised alongside the Andrews-Jones boys, much of their lives were kept separated by a decent age gap and professional boundary of her father working for theirs. The loneliness of being the only child her age on the estate, the other half of her family lost to a commune, and not having many friends left her feeling a bit like she was stuck living just on the outside of heaven, climbing the gate just to get a glimpse of what was inside.

 

Laughter. Joy. Companionship.

 

Jughead Jones, slightly elder of the two boys, was extremely bright and acerbic, only rarely indulging in the extensive gardens or tennis courts, and far more in favor of staying inside at the libraries or traveling abroad for school. His shrewd business sense and acclaim as a young writer brought his fathers’ companies much-wanted respect.

 

His stepbrother Archie had been through several schools and relationships, constantly jumping between life ambitions as a musician, a polo player, and a strangely excitable playboy. He kept the family in the headlines, often igniting heated debates between Fred and FP whether the old adage was true - that _any_ publicity was, in fact, _good_ publicity.

 

But Betty didn’t care about the scandals and saw the family as something beautiful and whole. When she was a child, FP would pour people whiskey or apple juice from his back seat in the car on days a deal had gone particularly well. Fred was the first to suggest she learn to ride their horses, let her brush and braid their hair, even if her father rarely let her indulge in it.

 

On bright summer days, when only she and Jughead were around, Archie would encourage her to be their cheerleader and scorekeeper for a game of tennis, his arms wrapped loosely around her as he showed her the perfect form for a swing. While the boys played, she was occasionally tasked with distracting their eager, slobbery sheepdog with fetch. Archie would playfully tug her ponytail and praise her as a lovely young lady while Jughead rolled his eyes and called his brother a flirt. Even though Archie was quite a bit older than her, she still felt a blush at the thought of him noticing her like girls closer to his age.

 

Jughead saw her more as a child. She was Hal’s daughter, furiously pedaling her bicycle in an attempt to imitate his motorbike. Pop’s assistant, hair pinned back and fingers burned in her determination to make a decent meatloaf. He’d offer her a head nod or eye the book she had tucked into her bag before asking Pop for bacon for him and Hot Dog, always up for taste-testing the latest concoction.

 

When the Andrews-Jones boys found out she loved Nancy Drew, they offered to lend her some mystery series’ from their library. Hal returned the books the next day under the firm impression that it was unprofessional to borrow things from them, and he’d take her to the library. Of course, since he worked so much, he was rarely able to take her but thought buying the books would be a waste. Rather than acquire late fees, Betty just borrowed from her school library or would bicycle to the nearest one, a hot streak of shame shooting down her back when she’d be covered in dust after a long ride past the large estates in the area just for another story. It almost didn’t seem worth it to go so far for another fantasy when she could just watch the Andrews-Jones live out their own. Spend hours imagining herself into their beautiful world where she was more than a girl kept in the garage.

 

She’d watch their family fight and play and celebrate life in a way she didn’t think was possible and fell a little more in love with them every day. Especially Archie, who grew up handsomely, surrounded by friends, so passionate and kind. A boy who seemed to attract love so easily.

 

She’d climb the tree on the edge of the garden, wondering at their happy lives and wishing she knew just _once_ what it would be like to be one of those effortlessly charming women that a great guy like Archie would flock to. Someone people would praise and smile at and want to talk to and find interesting instead of a girl with grease stains and a ponytail who spent most of her days alone with a diary and books, desperately trying to learn to cook so she and her father could eat something besides tidy sandwiches and spaghetti.

 

How wonderful it would be, dancing under the moonlight during an Andrews-Jones garden party, sneaking away into the tennis courts with champagne for something that left couples looking positively delighted. Sweet nothings and even sweeter love.

 

//

 

Her father caught wind of her infatuation. When Fred and Archie would come in to check on the latest classic restoration or the scratch being buffed out of Archie’s car, the golden boy would always ask, “How is it you don’t have a boyfriend yet, Betty?” and she’d twist her ponytail shyly and say she didn't know. “I bet it's because you're so smart,” he'd tease. “Too smart and too pretty for any of the boys your age. Just wait ‘til you’re older and you’ll be a total heartbreaker.” She stood up a little straighter at that, and Hal started researching boarding schools to send her away to protect the longstanding respect between the families.

 

Betty didn’t feel delighted or grateful at the prospect of being sent away from the only family she’d ever really known and loved. Not at 15. She was lonely in a way that made her feel plain. Invisible. What used to fill her mind with wonder made her heart contract painfully, and she couldn’t bear to watch Archie whisper sweet nothings into the ear of his latest fling. It hurt to watch a girl giggle and fall all over him while nobody saw Betty.The sweet relief of her nails in her palms didn’t feel like enough.

 

On what was to be her last full day on the estate, Betty tried to absorb everything that she loved. Listened to the orchestra that played for the garden party. Waited for Archie when he’d dropped off the car and flashed her a smile, possibly the last glimpse of it that she'd see for years, if not ever. Who knew where he'd end up professionally? And then she'd lose him forever, along with everyone and everything else. Every hope and dream would fade into the distance as she was plucked into another life of loneliness, one without her family--or even the people that _felt_ like family.

 

How desperately she wished she was grown enough to join everyone at the party, to be the one that made them smile, to lure Archie into convincing her father to let her stay, even if she was too young to _really_ be with him now. By the time she was 18 he’d probably be married or off on another continent, and with his trouble learning new languages, she doubted it would be France. This was her last party. Her last glimpse of paradise, of a life she’d never know and could only dream about.

 

“Come down, Elizabeth,” her father sighed from below the tree, still in his uniform. He’d be charged with driving the family and some of their guests around during the evening. Hal knew her favorite spots and he knew of her aching heart.

 

“Who’s that girl dancing with Archie?” Betty asked, betraying her own misery as she clambered down from her vantage point.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“No. I just…I hate girls who giggle all the time.” Betty felt like she’d never smile again once she left the estate.

 

“You dislike every girl Archie looks at. You have to move on, Elizabeth. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“I only hope Paris is far enough.”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

Paris felt like another planet. Another century, for all she’d see her friends, for all she’d see her father, even. She would have no one and nothing but channeling what her father described as her “passions” into a frying pan. But what of her heart?

 

“Come down to your room. You still need to finish packing.”

 

“Just a few more minutes,” she pleaded, glancing once more at the party. At the happy people dancing, the _family_.

 

Sighing, her father acquiesced. “Only because it’s your last night, dear. A few minutes. Then I expect you to gather the last of your things.”

 

Betty didn’t bother climbing back into her hiding spot. Maybe if she put herself out there more, Archie’d finally notice _her_ the way she needed him to. Not the girl covered in kitchen or car grease, but someone to share this life, laughter, and possibly love with. Maybe it would be enough to keep her from being sent away. Enough to let her stay in this fantasy just a little longer.

 

His date skipped ahead in her fancy dress, giggling all the while, and Archie followed with his bottle of champagne. The path to the tennis courts was always right by Betty’s tree, and no one ever spotted her, not even when she was standing beside it. But this time, as Archie passed, she stepped out into the path, just a pace or two behind.

 

“Hi, Archie.”

 

She wrung her hands, hoping her simple skirt was still pretty enough to catch his eye when she swayed it invitingly, hoping they could have a moment. That she’d be able to confess.

 

“Oh, Betty, it’s just you,” he gasped, bringing the champagne to his chest. “I thought I heard somebody. Thought I’d have to break out the boxing moves.”

 

She opened her mouth, preparing to confess, but the words stuck, thick with longing, in her throat. “No, I was just…I wanted to say...”

 

“Have a good night,” he beamed, on his own plane of delight and wonder.

 

Without breaking his stride, Archie continued on his way, happily humming along to “ _Isn’t it Romantic?”_ while the hope in her heart flickered like a lone birthday candle. She couldn’t drag him into her misery.

 

“Don’t worry. It was nobody. Nobody at all.”

 

She followed him to the tennis courts for one last glimpse of part of her dream before she left. Watched him undo his tie, sending his charming smile over to the giggling, impossible girl in the moonlight. As Archie moved forward, Betty felt the tear in her heart split at the seams.

 

Nothing felt like her choice anymore, not even her fantasy. Nobody cared, nobody wanted her. If she got on that plane, she would lose everything, even her hope. She was losing it every second the party came closer to its end. And soon, the elegant songs would fade to silence, the laughter would die out, and she’d be alone. She always would be.

 

Life on the outside of heaven felt horribly, indescribably like hell. With no mother or sister to speak of, not since the ugly divorce and subsequent disappearance into some kind of commune, Betty was left alone with her dark thoughts as she escaped to the garage and an audience of Rolls Royces, Harley Davidson’s, and Mercedes Benz. There was no one waiting for her in Paris. No one who wanted her here. Even the glamour of this last night was too much for her. 

 

The idea of an ocean between her and the entire world she loved and wanted seemed impossible. Far worse than the distance between the gate or the garage. Loneliness and devastation consumed her, but instead of crying or digging her nails in, she sought the metal keys that had been dangling over her head her whole life. She was sick of control being wrested from her. Of being near to people and yet completely alone.

 

She started every car in the garage, lovingly running her hands over the interiors. The motors gargled in protest, puffing broad plumes of smoke. It was a symphony of sputtering, loud enough to rattle the whole garage. She’d never heard so much noise all at once. Some motors didn’t purr, they snarled, and she desperately begged them to shush so as not to disturb the party. This seemed the least offensive way to go. No messy cleanup, relatively painless, and still holding onto the passion in this world. But the _smell_. She coughed, opening one of the garage windows. It was like an angel reached through, bathing her in moonlight and “ _Isn’t it Romantic_?”

 

She coughed, eyelids drooping contentedly, the smell still awful but not unbearable. Occasionally, her lungs still protested, but it was part of the fantasy now. Of being welcomed into sweet oblivion with her father’s cars and her sweetheart’s song.

 

The rumbling wall on the other side barely even caught her attention until the moonlight was replaced with harsh overhead fluorescents and a voice called out, “What the hell? Who’s in here?”

 

She coughed, wide awake, and anxiously ducked behind the cars, trying to find a quiet place to lay and die. But the intruder moved quickly, shutting off the cars, swearing under his breath. She had to move, crawling alongside a black Bentley, peeking above to catch sight of familiar suspenders, absolutely humiliated to have it be clever Jughead interrupting her romantic impromptu departure.

 

He kneeled down and saw the young girl with her usually prim ponytail askew, smeared in motor oil from stuffing herself under a car. It stunned him, the harsh tenacity of his muscles relaxing as he started to get the idea that this wasn’t one of the guest’s drunken pranks.

 

“Betty? What are you doing down there?”

 

“I was just…looking at the cars,” she managed, all big eyes and shadows for someone so fair.

 

“All at once?”

 

She nodded, fist curled tight against her chest. He might’ve noticed the way her neck veins throbbed, the terrified tears in her eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

 

“Come on out of there.” Like a chastened school girl, Betty scrambled to stand in front of him, head down as if she was ready to be punished. It made him feel inept for the situation. Most of the people he berated deserved it. He was used to being the grown up in the room, even though he was barely twenty. He was the guy with a bottom line, generous logic, and a greater vision. But he didn’t really have a great lecture to give an emotional girl in a cloud of carbon monoxide.

 

“Next time you look at the cars, you keep the garage door open.” She nodded, her eyelashes long and wet. She coughed into her sleeve, accidentally smudging a bit of motor oil on her lip.

 

Jughead hastily reached up to wipe it away with his thumb, unable to bear the sight of her so blatantly marked by a mistake. “You’d think a chauffeur’s daughter would know something like that.” She looked up at him, and for a moment cold fear gripped both of their chests that he knew her secret. But he pushed it aside, leading her out of the garage and into some fresh air before his heartbeat could overwhelm his ears or he got lightheaded himself. He didn’t know what to do with her.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

She nodded again, rigid up against the outer garage doors, her nails tight in her palms and around the handle, wondering how long until she could slip back in.

 

“Where’s your father?”

 

“Why?” Her voice came out raspy, thick from the exhaust. It was unlike Jughead to call on her father late at night for shuttle services. He never got drunk and rarely entertained beyond business meetings or school projects. The only thing she could think of was that Jughead was going to tell on her, make sure her father locked her back up again before she could escape.

 

He seemed to hesitate, studying her face before deciding to answer with a level, “Because Mrs. McCoy wants to go home and we can’t find her daughter, so I wanted to make sure we had a car that could take her.”

 

“Oh, Miss McCoy is…” Betty flushed, turning her cheek toward the garage and slumping against it.

 

But Jughead was clever enough to know what the self-imposed silence probably meant. He’d been adjacent to, if not present at enough parties to know that Archie liked to slip away to host more private engagements.

 

“Got it.” He tugged at his beanie, something not even his fathers could convince him to part with except for the most special of occasions. He eyed Betty shrewdly, the way her long eyelashes covered those big, glazed eyes of hers, the way her head was slowly lolling forward. “Are you sure you’re all—”

 

She fell rather abruptly, passing out more than fainting. If Jughead hadn’t already been so close, she might’ve dropped straight to the floor. The surprising dead weight of her nearly knocked the breath out of him. They stayed like that, slumped together for a beat or two as he swore and gently tried to shake her awake, pat her cheeks. He was not about to carry a teenage girl passed out in his arms like a bride, so he swooped her over his shoulder and summoned the same muscle memory he used when dragging Archie or FP back home after he’d drank too much. At least she was lighter than his brother or his father, and from the pulsing in her stomach, she appeared to be breathing. He’d probably have to call the doctor or maybe just let her breathe out here for a while.

 

The flinch of her legs and a low moan alerted him when she awoke. She plucked at his suspenders, snapping them against his shirt.

 

“Ow! Be careful with those,” he chided, jostling her atop his shoulder.

 

Even though she was sober, the slur of drowsiness made her words thick. “You’re manhandling me. Why am I upside down?”

 

“You fainted. Not breathing oxygen will do that to you. Eight cars. Like _one_ wasn’t enough,” he scoffed, trying not to think about the term _manhandling_ and or other unfortunate things. She coughed, ribs ricocheting against him. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been around?”

 

“Died.”

 

Anger threaded through his veins as he squeezed hard behind her knees. “What a stupid thing to do.”

 

It’d almost make her laugh if she wasn’t so depressed. “Not nearly as stupid as falling in love.”

 

“What’s that?” His chin accidentally grazed her ass in the attempt to turn his head, and both of them repositioned and coughed so as not to repeat the incident.

 

She scrambled weakly, trying to use his suspenders to gain leverage. “The cars! I have to lock up the garage! We can’t just leave it open like that.”

 

“I’ll take care of it. Can’t believe I have to end my night looking after _two_ kids. First Archie, and now…” He trailed off, irritated with himself for giving her a hard time. Especially after…whatever it was she was going through. Responsibility always seemed like her strong suit, so for her to do something so _reckless_ made him furious. Betty hung limply over his shoulders until he dropped her in front of her lodging. Surprised, she looked from him to the door.

 

“How did you know this is mine?”

 

“I know a lot about this estate and the town, having spent a fair portion of time building and writing about it. You think I don’t know where people live on the estate?”

 

“Oh.” She stared forlornly at the door, feeling odd. It wasn’t like he’d write about her. She was nobody. Nothing. The chauffeur’s daughter. The scorekeeper to his tennis matches.

 

Her sad, cherubic face made his pulse quicken, and he was more annoyed than anything that he couldn’t just _leave_ her like this, that he didn’t know _how_ to leave her and feel good about it. She could fall over or go back to the garage any second and the only doctor at the party was half-drunk and chatting with the local gossip. So they stood there, her staring at the estate, him staring at her door, both hovering in each other’s peripheral.

 

“I’m going to France tomorrow. My father’s enrolled me in cooking school. He’s hoping while I’m there I can find work or get into Oxford or become a renowned chef. Father says I need to learn to properly channel my passions.”

 

“Wow. That’s impressive. A lot of options.”

 

“Not really,” she sighs, turning away. “It’s not like I have a say in the matter. I’ll go, I’ll learn, and be alone there instead of here. Even my father doesn’t want me around anymore.”

 

Uncomfortable, Jughead folds his arms across his chest. “Hal’s always been a bit hard to read, but maybe he wants you to expand your horizons.” She’d always been a _bit_ adventurous, climbing trees, chasing the family dog, but so demure as a teen that she’d barely managed a hello and shy smile before running back around the corner and out of sight. He knew she was close with their chef, Pop, but hadn’t expressed any particular interest in learning how to cook professionally. Nor travel. But she looked miserable now.

 

“Being alone isn’t the worst thing. The first time I left home, I was prepared to spend a lot of time in libraries and museums, but you’d be surprised what brings people together. The memories you’ll make.”

 

Betty wrung her hands. “I might not see any of you again.”

 

He squeezed her shoulder with a heavy hand, both of them surprised enough by the gesture that they stared. Time seemed to stop. The music wasn’t playing. No fumes in the air.

 

“You’ll always have the stories we made here. I hope you enjoy your next chapter,” he said, feeling his heart drip through his shoes as he watched her disappear resignedly into the shadows, not sure if and when he’d seen her again, hoping that she’d make the most of her opportunity, wherever that took her.

 

Betty cried herself to sleep and boarded the plane the next day, a photo of the Andrews-Jones boys tucked in her pocket.

 

// //

 

Jughead seemed entirely unsurprised to see a newspaper slapped on his desk, Archie’s hair sticking up in every direction as though he’d strung it upwards like antennae of frustration. “What the hell, Jughead?! How did this happen? _Archie Andrews hearing wedding bells again? Spotted talking to diamond expert from the St. Claire family?_ ” Archie’s eyes bugged wildly. “I’m not going to propose!”

 

“Why not?”

 

“What do you mean why not?”

 

“You haven’t seemed averse to the action before,” Jughead commented drolly, still not fully dragging his attention from the typewriter in front of him.

 

“You know Ronnie, she’s not gonna want to get married. She doesn’t even want to say _I love you_ , and she’s definitely not gonna accept anything less than a diamond now that it’s in the papers. And if I don't give her one, she'll just get Reggie to do it to rub it in my face. I’m screwed!”

 

“Hardly.” At Archie’s insistent slap of the newspaper over the typewriter keys, Jughead shot an annoyed glare upwards. “Why do you ask _me_ about your women troubles?”

 

“Because you're smart, and I need your help.”

 

With a long-suffering sigh, Jughead placed his hands together in his lap. “If you want to get Veronica a diamond, borrow the money from our dads and work it off. You could go on tour so she can show it off. I'm sure they'd lend you the money if you kept dating her and actually showed up for work.”

 

“You think?”

 

“It’s a business venture, Archie. The Lodges want the Andrews-Jones’ business and vice-versa, otherwise I'd tell you you're wasting your time.”

 

“But they can do their work stuff without jewelry or me and Ronnie, right?”

 

“Maybe, but from what I understand, Hiram and Hermione are very particular about whom they do business with, and since you’re already… _acquainted_ with Veronica…”

 

“Jug!” he whined, sitting on the desk. “You have to help me. I don’t want to have some _arranged_ marriage. Where’s the love in that? The passion?”

 

“It’s not like you actually have to marry her. Commitment doesn’t automatically mean a loss of passion, Archie, despite what your transcripts may say. From what FP and Fred told me, and from what you’d also understand, if you showed up for a single family business meeting, AJ Industries only needs those low rental fees for the first few years, and then the patent for the new bulletproof glass the Lodges hope to install in all of their security vehicles and hotel lobbies will kick in, and everything will be gravy.”

 

“Gravy?”

 

“Gravy,” Jughead repeated, drumming his fingers on his laptop. “So, you just keep doing what you’re doing. Continue the love affair and keep Veronica happy. Get her a ring. Maybe she’ll plan a party, maybe she won’t. It’s not like she’s racing down the aisle, either, right? So let her look at flower arrangements and go on cake tastings and write songs about her and whatever else you do, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

 

“Why don’t you do it, if it’s so easy?”

 

Jughead snorted, rolling away in his study chair. “First of all, I don’t like Veronica. I doubt she’d like me. Second of all, if I ever had a girlfriend, I’d be constantly cheating on her with all of _this_.” He gestured to the books and notes adorning his study.

 

“Why choose _this_ over a girl?”

 

They’d had this conversation before, usually in jest. “Because. It’s important. Exploring unsolved mysteries is…powerful. Learning the history of escapism and crime is as important in business as it is in life. If our glass, if our buildings can make people safer, I’m willing to make that a priority and forego the serenades and socializing you so often seem to be a part of.”

 

“You’re missing out, Jug,” Archie declared wistfully, plucking at a red string on the cork board like it was a guitar. Jughead’s eyebrow flinched at the disruption to his clue connections.

 

“So, are you gonna keep dating the Lodge heiress or not?”

 

“Yeah. She’s really cool. Besides, she said her dad has this awesome lodge in the Alps.”

 

“The Lodge Lodge?”

 

Missing the sarcasm, Archie nodded. “Yeah. You wanna go?”

 

“Send me a postcard,” Jughead chuckled, wondering if everyone could be as obtuse as his easily distracted brother.

 

// //

 

Betty was wracking her brain trying to think of what to say in her weekly postcard besides begging to know more about the Andrews-Jones family and life on the estate. Jughead's short stories and articles kept accumulating on her shelves like little slices of her childhood, packaged in a neat book. Sometimes it was the only thing keeping her going in what felt like the never-ending loneliness of learning French and cooking with complete strangers who seemed to find her ignorance taxing. And she _hated_ not knowing things. She sacrificed a social life for time spent in libraries, studying French and recipes, wondering which songs Archie might like, which foods Jughead might sneak out of the kitchen if they tasted good enough. The photo she’d kept of the brothers stayed on her desk, a friendly reminder that somewhere out there, Archie still had _his_ passions. Now she had to find hers.

 

Betty longed to find interests that might please her father, things to write about in her postcards home: anecdotes about her classes, the city, books she’d read, cars, how she practiced the skills she learned as a child. His letters back were informative but dry, and she found herself embarrassed that she didn’t have more of a social life to boast of when he ferried the Andrews-Jones’s to exciting engagements on a daily basis, even if he himself found them part of the everyday dreariness and didn’t want to encourage her interest in that sort of frivolity.

 

She was jolted out of her internal thoughts when the chef fixed her with a disgusted glare, looking down his small mustache at her soupy soufflé. “ _Low_. Much too low.”

 

He dismissed the students to try the next assignment, her likewise eager-to-please classmates scurrying to their stations. Sighing, Betty held her soufflé to her waist, staring into its depths. As a perfectionist, failing always felt particularly horrible. Like a smog cloud working its way into her lungs until she had to sniffle against the dense sorrow to breathe.

 

The man at the station next to her appraised the disaster at her waist, his own masterpiece looking perfectly golden in its tray.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” she sighed. “I followed the recipe.”

 

“You never started the oven,” her new friend grinned, pointing to the oddly-labeled machine that had been toying with her food and emotions.

 

“Oh,” she gasped, cringing at what her teacher undoubtedly thought of as American ignorance. “Sorry, I’ve been distracted.”

 

“I can tell. And if I may be so bold, I might say the lady is in love?” Betty blushed, huddling around the failure in her arms. “Maybe even _unlucky_ in love?”

 

“I wouldn't debate you,” she sighed, pushing the icon of what was apparently the _start_ button to preheat the oven, even if it was too late for a good grade. At least once, she needed to get it right, to be proud.

 

“Trust me, I understand. Kevin Keller. I, too, have been unhappy in love.”

 

She turned so quickly that her ponytail whipped to the side. “I never said I was unha—”

 

“Sweetie, someone _happily_ distracted by love burns things. Unhappy?” He gestured to her cold soup.

 

“All right, fine. I’m miserable in love. I’ve known him my whole life and he barely even knows I exist. There’s always someone who wants to be with him and he's older and charming and none of that it matters because we’re on totally different continents. I might as well be in love with the moon.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?”

 

“It’s ridiculous! And impossible.”

 

“Hardly. Haven’t you ever heard of a rocket?” Betty laughed, her first real belly-laugh since arriving. Kevin tugged on the end of her hair. “You might have better luck in love if you wore your hair like a stylish Parisian woman instead of in a ponytail.”

 

Embarrassed, Betty tightened her hair.

 

Even though Kevin was clearly not interested in her romantically, he did seek her companionship. Close friendship and being sought in general was something she so sorely missed most of her life.

 

They spent weeks going to fancy dinners, galas, stores. He became her best friend and confidante in France. For a while, her father kept sending postcards hinting about a boyfriend title or perhaps getting over Archie, but she had to disappoint him and inform him that Kevin was gay and she was sadly still very much in orbit of her childhood crush.

 

Rumors of Archie’s turbulent engagement crushed her, even with the knowledge that he’d broken them off before. She cried into wine and cheese about never finding true love until Kevin bought her a bouquet of beautiful roses and played a game. _“He loves me a little, he loves me a lot, he loves me passionately, he doesn’t love me at all.”_

 

“That’s not the way it goes,” she protested, wiping her cheeks. “It’s _he loves me, he loves me not_.”

 

“Not in Paris,” Kevin laughed, pouring some more wine. “Love isn’t that simple or grand. It’s beautiful. It’s fluid. Like wine. This Archie fellow may love her now, but love wanes, love grows. You’ll see. You’ll fall in love. Who knows? Maybe you’ll go home and this Archie fellow will fall for you. Or maybe you’ll meet a stranger on the train and be swept off your feet for a few weeks. Love...is _passion_.”

 

“But what about his fiancé?”

 

“She’ll find someone else to love,” Kevin shrugged. “A girl like that? A diamond a dozen. Sometimes a boy needs a rose.” He dabbed the flower on her nose, earning a wrinkled expression from his blonde best friend. “And sometimes, they need chocolate.”

 

He supplied her with something sweet, but even as she ate, she wasn’t sure about the gnawing uneasiness of a long-nursed love simply fading away. Archie’s eyes were warm like chocolate, like Fred’s hair. FP reminded her more of dark coffee, her own father of tea, and Jughead...oddly enough, she associated Jughead with some of her nicer knit sweaters. Perhaps the ones that had a bit more personality, like his crowned cap, or woven strong, like the one he wore in the author’s panel on the back of his first novel.

 

“Come on,” Kevin gestured, a little past tipsy. “I’m going to put away all your Peter Pan collars and sweater sets and buy you lingerie.”

 

“No!”

 

“And silk! And satin!” he mused, gone on the prospect of fashion. Of putting her out in the path of sex and love and whatever else the universe had to offer. He wanted decadence, for her and for him. It was his mission to get her romanced by the athlete-musician with stellar abs he saw in photos, and took every opportunity to remind her that Archie never confirmed an engagement announcement in the papers and that Veronica, the supposed fiancé, was often photographed at events with bachelor Reggie Mantle. Betty’s stomach did a little swoop every time their relationship status seemed to swing one way or another, trying to focus on her studies instead of her dreams. Maybe Paris would become her new love.

 

While Kevin wasn’t able to convince her to pack away all of her sweaters or shamelessly flirt with the men who saw her on the street, he did manage to get her into dresses that she’d only ever glanced at in windows, a treat for her visit home.

 

Amazed, she’d run her hands over the different fabrics, faced what had somehow become a womanly figure, and realized she was in _Paris_. The city of love, where she had found companionship and confidence. What was so impossible about returning home for a visit, for a garden party? She’d been to soirées with Kevin’s friends—great writers, musicians, and philosophers. Artists. Scholars. Citizens of the world. And even though she felt a little more comfortable among them, she longed for that feeling of _home_. To confront that goodbye in the garage with her chin held high, to fill her heart with the stories she’d missed while she was away, and maybe share some new ones with her family. A small part of her wished she might also feel a little more comfortable with the Andrews-Jones’, skate closer to their world without feeling like she’d stain it with her presence or have her father yank her away.

 

Kevin continued to declare that Archie and Veronica were without a wedding date, both of them coyly referring to each other as _beaus_ or _dates having a good time_ without ever using the term _fiancé_. It was probably all a business arrangement. A publicity stunt. A happy one, perhaps, but not something to be frightened of or impressed by.

 

“Love is never something to be scared of,” Kevin insisted.

 

“Only a life without it,” she agreed.

 

They enjoyed Paris. Enjoyed the moon. Enjoyed the possibilities of magic.


	2. La Vie en Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Betty, with all her Parisian-inspired splendor! Everyone's a little starstruck by the reunion, but I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

Jughead distractedly rearranged papers in the back seat on his way to his agent. The Lodges were thankfully occupied with FP and Fred at a business lunch, and Veronica occupied by Archie. It was the perfect time to go over their contracts, their business dealings, _everything_.

 

He’d gotten through quite a bit already. After stopping off to pick up lunch, Jughead slid back into the car. Cooper seemed nervous, fiddling with a Parisian postcard.

 

“How’s Betty doing?”

 

“Still in love,” Cooper muttered, distressed.

 

“What?”

 

“With the city. With Paris. I’m actually picking her up from the train station once we’re done with our errand.”

 

Jughead felt something akin to discomfort at the idea of having Betty back in his life. Things were bound to be different after her graduation, probably in a good way. He didn’t need to babysit her or keep an eye on the garage. She was a grown up. An adult. Legally, at least.

 

“Is that her postcard?”

 

“Yes. She graduated top of her class,” he said fondly, still slightly hesitant as he handed the message over for inspection. “Learned French _and_ Spanish. Says she gets mistaken for a native all the time now. I might not even recognize her.”

 

The postcard was not a typical image of the Eiffel Tower or Arc de Triomphe. Inked black and blush flowers complemented a butterfly spreading its wings.

 

_Dearest Father,_

 

_I’ll be graduating next week and getting my diploma. I want to thank you now for the most wonderful time of my life. I shall always love you for sending me here. It is late at night and someone across the way is playing "La Vie En Rose."_

 

_It is the French way of saying, “I am looking at the world through rose-colored glasses.” It says everything I feel. I have learned so many things, Father. Not just how to make vichyssoise or calf's head with sauce vinaigrette, but a much more important recipe. I have learned how to live, how to be in the world and of the world… and not just to stand aside and watch._

 

_And I will never, never again run away from life, or from love, either._

 

“Maybe _she_ should be the writer,” Jughead chuckled lightly.

 

“What was that, sir?”

 

“Nothing. It’s a great postcard. I’m glad you’ll have her home.”

 

They fell into companionable silence for the rest of the ride, Betty’s postcard fluttering carefully into the passenger seat.

 

// //

 

Betty flexed her palms, not having sunk her nails into them for months. She didn’t want pacing in an empty train station by the side of the road to derail her progress. She felt exceedingly overdressed for what would probably just be a small dinner at home between her and her father, but she’d wanted to show just how different she _felt_. How different she _became._ Kevin had approved of her outfit with kisses on either cheek, declaring her _magnifique_ before sending her off on the plane. All of his shameless praise and commentary had given her such strength and confidence in France, and she wanted to hang onto that upon her return home. Her father would be at least another half hour since he had to drop off Jughead before coming back and bringing him along was simply “unprofessional.”

 

She wouldn’t have minded Jughead’s company, but her father was always so hell-bent on displaying a perfectly respectable image and wouldn’t even dream of co-mingling and whatnot. He let her sit on the fence but never allowed her to ask them to play or be invited in. But those days were over.

 

Now she was a _Parisian-educated woman_. With high heels, and a beret in her bag to match.

 

A familiar blue convertible rolled to a halt, winding back around where she paced by the end of the street. Astoundingly enough, behind the wheel was Archie’s bright smile. His chocolate-warm eyes, sunny red hair, and All-American good looks were the perfect welcome back to the country.

 

“Archie! Well, hi! Are you my lift?” She grinned, nearly leaping into the street to greet him. Kevin had taught her how to walk in heels, how to play coy, but she found friendliness worked far better in her favor. The idea that it was fate that Archie be her first reunion seemed too good to be true, but the excitement of coming home led her to believe in small miracles.

 

Archie’s eyebrows rose in surprise, taking her in from the heels to her wavy golden hair. Betty even posed a little bit, amazed that he was really _seeing_ her after all this time. That she was impressive. It was almost embarrassing, but she couldn't help being a _little_ pleased to make an impression. “Hey, Duchess! Where are you headed?”

 

“Don’t be silly. The estate! Didn’t my father send you?”

 

He opened his mouth, clearly at a loss, but not an unhappy one. “I’m still drawing a blank as to how I’m lucky enough to know a girl like you. Maybe my brother is right, I am blessed.”

 

“Jughead would never say that,” she teased, already turning to grab her things. “Not unless he was being sarcastic, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

 

“Oh, you know Jug, too? Alright, hold on, let me help you.”

 

Archie kept wracking his brain, guessing their acquaintance, absolutely charmed by the way she delighted in their game, letting him guess again and again without giving any hints. She certainly wasn’t one of Veronica’s friends. Always shrewd, Veronica tended to keep other girls out of his immediate visage, especially leggy blondes with wavy hair and fantastic smiles. But she did seem familiar.

 

“So our fathers know each other?” he guessed, almost a total shot in the dark as he opened the door for her.

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Uh, construction?”

 

“No,” she laughed, lovingly tracing his dashboard. She had an odd fondness for the car, having restored it many a time, but she’d never been lucky enough to go for a drive in it. Professional boundaries, and all that. Sighing, she leaned her head back, hair blowing in the wind. “I always wondered what it would be like to ride like this.”

 

“Anything else you imagined?”

 

Betty smirked, a little taken aback at the heart-eyes Archie was throwing over at her. A small part of her wanted to remind him that he was probably engaged, but another wanted to revel in the fact that Archie was besotted with _her -_ for once.

 

“Maybe. As a child, I often played alone, which meant I had to have a _very_ good sense of imagination.”

 

“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to play with someone as sweet and pretty as you.”

 

She shrugged, looking away. “Things were different back then.”

 

As they approached the corner of the estate, Betty urged him to pull into the garage closest to the apartments. Archie readjusted in his seat, clearly not sure where this was going, but invigorated by it all the same.

 

“You don’t _live_ here.”

 

“I do!”

 

“You don’t!”

 

“I promise, I do. And I did,” she teased, the breeze picking up just enough for him to catch a whiff of her perfume.

 

“Well, you know what they say." He smiled, eyes raking over her breezy beauty as they pulled up to the garage. “Love thy neighbor.”

 

Betty’s laugh caught the attention of Pop and some ground staff, who rushed the car with an enthusiasm that astounded Archie.

 

“You know all these people?”

 

“Of course!” She gave cheek-kisses all around, Archie awkwardly unpacking the trunk as he still wracked his brain for how he could know and yet forget the dazzling girl in front of him.

 

“Elizabeth!”

 

Betty straightened at the sound of her father’s voice. The car hadn’t even pulled up all the way, Archie’s ride blocking the entry anyway, and yet her father was out of the car with tears in his eyes and an arm out. It took significant effort not to run to him, to be dignified going into his arms.

 

“I missed you,” she sniffed, holding him tightly.

 

“Oh, sweetheart. We’ve missed you too.”

 

An astoundingly warm ache spread through her stomach at being held by someone who felt like _home_. In all his letters, her father had never indicated any loneliness on his end, but perhaps he felt it, too.

 

“Elizabeth?” Archie repeated, incredulous.

 

Betty grabbed her father’s arm, pulling him along to his apartment. “We can catch up over tea.”

 

“Wait, you’re _Betty_?” Archie clarified, eyebrow still furrowed in confusion. “Hal Cooper’s daughter? The chauffeur…mechanic…guy?”

 

“Yes.” She said it so simply, proud, arm still linked in her father’s, that Archie was a bit taken aback.

 

“Oh. Um. Right. Betty! Welcome back.” He looked both ways before leaning in for his own cheek-kisses, much to Betty’s surprise and Hal’s annoyance. “What do you say you join us tonight for the garden party? Sort of a welcome back?”

 

Before Hal could protest, Betty tugged at his arm, jumping on the opportunity. “Yes! I’d be honored! I'm afraid I won't be as glamorous as the rest of you, but I do have a dress from Paris I'd been hoping to have an occasion to unpack.”

 

“Can't wait to see it,” Archie grinned.

 

She pulled her father towards the apartments to keep him from glaring daggers at her childhood crush and ruining what might be her only shot at being an actual guest at their garden parties. “See you tonight, Archie!”

 

Jughead stepped out of the car, having finally gathered his paperwork, and paused, door still open, as he watched Betty ascend the staircase. Alerted to his presence, she turned and flashed him a disarmingly bright smile, one he’d never seen in all the years she’d grown up with them. “Hi, Jughead!” With a bounce and a wave, she disappeared behind the building before he was able to manage more than a head nod. She was…a _woman_.

 

Despair groaned at the pit of his stomach as his gaze turned to Archie, who was practically salivating by the car and leftover trunks. “Can you believe that’s the same kid who used to run around the corner every time she saw us, knees stained with motor oil? How do you like those legs now? Aren’t they something?” Archie grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

 

“Try to think of Veronica’s legs, Arch. Aren’t those something?”

 

“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning wistfully on the car, but his gaze still drew back to where Betty had disappeared.

 

The same place Jughead saw a sad, gangly girl say goodbye to her former life. Now she seemed to be absolutely blooming in her new one.

 

Hal steadfastly ignored all the gifts and excitement Betty was dribbling on about, waving it aside. “Elizabeth, I don’t like this…meddling with Archie business. He’s sort of spoken for. _By a Lodge_. They’d tear your heart out if they thought they could make a profit on it.”

 

“Oh, father, it’s not like that. The papers say the diamond is just for show. I'm sure Archie is just being friendly,” she reasoned, far too excited for his liking as she aired out what looked to be a very expensive dress.

 

“I don’t think so. The whole thing doesn’t sit right with me. You’re right back where you were before you left. Mooning over Archie.”

 

“No, father, don’t you understand? Everything has changed. Now the moon is reaching for me,” she smiled, pushing her much-healed palms into her skirt.

 

// //

 

To everyone’s horror and delight, Betty was an absolute knockout. Her dress was unlike anything they’d ever seen. The latest fashion, her multiple-piece dress was white with little pink blossoms on the trim that reminded Jughead of the blush flowers on her postcard. Virginal white to contrast the berry-pink lips and meadow green eyes that seemed to captivate everyone who looked.

 

The second Archie spotted her, he accidentally danced Veronica into a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Gasping, she floundered, desperate for baking soda and on the verge of berating him for his usual brand of clumsiness.

 

“Kitchen, Ronnie. You don’t want it to stain,” he urged, shoving her inside and off onto a wait staff member before returning, brushing his hair back and offering Betty his hand amidst a pile of suitors.

 

“Archie,” she beamed, parting the sea of fascinated young men to accept his dance bid. He was the one who invited her, so it only seemed polite. “Will I get the honor of meeting your elusive Miss Lodge tonight?”

 

“Oh, I'm sure she's around here somewhere. We get thrown together a lot because our dads do business. You know.”

 

“Do I?” She narrowed her eyes on him, not sure how to take that. 

 

She wore white gloves, silky to the touch. Archie smiled, studying her face. The baby fat had made way for a striking jawline, her girlish ponytail let down into sweet waves that curled around her shoulder. Even after traveling across the world earlier in the day, she seemed pleasant and bright and _gracious_ , which was something he didn’t usually see in Veronica, nor most of the other girls he courted.

 

Her gaze drifted fondly around the property as they danced, always coming back to rest on his face. Even though everyone was looking at her, she didn’t seem affected by it. Not preening or giggling or judging or even taunting like his usual dates. She was just soaking it all in.

 

“You don’t know how many times I imagined I’d get to be here.”

 

“We’re lucky to have you. I was worried you wouldn’t show.”

 

“Sorry, this dress took a while to get ready.”

 

He laughed, watching her two-piece skirt shuffle in fluffy perfection behind her. “I can imagine. Looks complicated. Beautiful. But complicated. Like every good woman,” he teased, enjoying the smile that bloomed, one that reminded him of when he’d compliment her as a girl, albeit with far less reserve. “I’m just happy you’re here, Betty Cooper, all grown up and more radiant than ever.”

 

“Oh, Archie. You always know what to say.”

 

“Are you saying I’m charming?”

 

“Like you didn’t know.” She grinned, wondering if her younger self would _hate_ her right now. Straightening her posture, she tried to settle back into a genial smile. “Even when we were roller skating, as kids, you took my hands, skating backward so I could follow along, and just when I thought I was about to fall, you swept me up in a kiss and told me everything would be all right.”

 

She said it so sweetly that he almost wished he remembered.

 

“It seems strange to me now, that we're all grown up and somehow you're still here. I wonder if you're same boy I left before I went to Paris. I'm certainly not the same girl.”

 

“I can see that. Want to meet me on the tennis courts and find out?”

 

Her head draped back, eyeing him shrewdly. “Don’t tell me you were thinking of bringing the champagne, Archie.” At his sheepish grin, she shook her head, focusing on the dance and decor. “I only play with people who consider themselves single.”

 

His laugh got lost somewhere in the music. “Come on, it’s not like that. We could definitely play a game. For old time’s sake.”

 

Before she could properly gather her thoughts, Fred appeared with nervous lines around his smile and brow. “How’s it going, Arch? Want to introduce me to your friend here?”

 

“Yeah! Dad, you remember Betty? Hal Cooper’s daughter?”

 

Fred’s face lit up in shock, then softened into something resembling his usual friendliness. “Wow! Betty! I didn’t even recognize you.”

 

“She just got back from Paris. Figured I’d invite her to show her some hospitality. Welcome back, you know?”

 

“Really?” Fred shot Archie a level glance. “I think that’s one of Veronica’s favorite places. Where is that girl, by the way? He’s basically engaged,” Fred clarified, gesturing with his thumb, much to Archie’s chagrin.

 

“Ronnie’s in the bathroom, _Dad_ , and that ring was a gift, not a proposal. What’s the harm in a little reconnection?”

 

Betty shifted so she could gather her skirts in her palms, protecting them from the anxiety creeping up in her veins.

 

“Could I borrow you, son? Excuse us, Betty.”

 

“Sure.” She blushed, hurriedly sliding along the side of the house and trailing her fingertips along the patio enclosure for grounding to escape the mortification of being hit on by Archie in full view of the rest of the party when his girlfriend was in the other room. Even if Archie didn’t consider himself taken, the rest of the world seemed to. To see her longtime crush behave that way was... _staggering_. The only other place she could think to escape everyone else was the solitude of those tennis courts.

 

Through the silk of her gloves, everything felt surreal. She hummed to herself, gradually taking it in, making her way down the garden path to the tennis courts where she knew Archie might’ve tried to play a match or maybe slow dance with her, should he escape the wary eye of his father. What a strange role reversal.

 

In the same vein, so much seemed tied back to the night she left. Her wishes were coming true, but she didn’t have the same desperation for them she did as a girl. The fondness for everyone still clung deep to her soul, but she didn’t want Archie to take off his tie and make love to her in the tennis courts her first night back after a dance and a few charming exchanges. Still, perhaps it was flattering that he was trying to woo her at all.

 

Kevin wouldn’t let her live it down if she didn’t do a little dancing and romancing in this dress, especially with such beautiful moonlight overhead. Maybe she’d be able to camp out there for a few more minutes until it was safe to reemerge with the same excitement she’d arrived with. Whether or not Archie broke it off (again?) with Miss Lodge, the party was a chance for her to reconnect with a dream she’d always had, and she owed it to herself to explore that.

 

// //

 

Fred steered his resistant son towards the house.

 

“Dad, what do you want? Betty’s our guest and we should be looking out for her,” Archie snapped, surreptitiously snagging a pair of champagne glasses for his back pockets. His sleight of hand didn’t go unnoticed by Jughead, who followed them into the study for what was no doubt going to be another fruitless conversation with Archie about the significance of choices and their impact on the future.

 

“What are you thinking, dancing around with a girl like Betty, Arch? You know better than that.”

 

“Why? Because she’s the chauffeur’s daughter? I’ll have you know I think she’s amazing. She just got back today and I _happened_ to be driving by. This is fate. I mean, she could be the one!”

 

Jughead cough-laughed into his fist, avoiding his brother’s glare.

 

“She could be! I’ve known her my whole life and just didn’t know it until now.”

 

“Archie. She has a really nice dress, and really nice legs, I’ll grant you, but don’t you think abandoning your sort-of fiancé for her after spending maybe half an hour in each other’s company might be a bit excessive, even for you?”

 

“Come on, Jughead, back me up here! Ronnie’s more interested in her ring than in me. You saw Betty, she’s totally in our league now! Apparently I kissed her when we were kids. This could be _something special_ ,” Archie pleaded. “She’s a really nice girl! And funny, and beautiful, and...smart!”

 

“Probably smart enough not to date a guy who’s _basically engaged_.”

 

“We’re not engaged!”

 

Jughead shared a knowing glance with Fred, who looked like Archie had just aged him a few years. It was a miracle Archie even remembered anything about Betty other than her dress and hair color.

 

The Lodges and Andrews-Jones’s were set to renew their contract soon, and Archie throwing Veronica over for someone else would definitely put a damper on things. If Archie kept getting riled up, he was bound to take action, and that spelled trouble for all of them. More wreckage than broken cutlery and scratched cars, at least if the Lodges were involved. Not to mention that the Safe Living plan might fall through.

 

Sighing, Jughead rubbed the back of his hat, wondering what could convince Archie not to throw everything away on a whim for the prettiest blonde they’d ever seen. Or maybe they just had to convince _her_ it wasn’t a good fit and he needed the time and opportunity to do it. “Tell you what, Arch...if Betty is the girl for you, I think that’s great.”

 

“What?” Fred balked.

 

Tilting his head, Jughead gestured an open palm to a chair. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.”

 

Tugging his blazer, Archie moved forward. “Finally, someone who actually listens to what I want. Veronica even tries _dressing_ me sometimes. Not that that can’t be fun in its own way, but, as I was saying, Betty seems so patient and worldly and smart, and—”

 

Guilt flashed across Jughead’s face _just_ before Archie sat down, a crunching noise and resulting yowl gathering the attention of the waitstaff just outside.

 

“What are you—were there _glasses_ your pocket?” Fred panicked, instantly at his son’s side.

 

Jughead kneeled, almost enjoying Archie’s pained breathing. It was just a shard or two, he was sure, but Archie’s face was gloriously karmic nonetheless. Jughead grabbed a camera and took a picture for posterity, then stayed as Fred went to fetch the doctor and disinfectant.

 

Archie clung to his jacket lapels, pushing through his pain and frustration for his new singular passion. “Jug—Betty—she’s probably waiting for me in the tennis courts. She’s all alone—would you tell her what happened? Talk me up a little? Maybe don’t tell her _all_ that happened, but—”

 

“You’ve got it, Arch,” Jughead assured him, slapping his brother on the arm. “I’ll go talk to your girl.”

 

Grabbing the champagne and some fresh glasses, he wondered if maybe he should lose his hat. Or brush his hair. Or his teeth. Betty was probably just starstruck by their lifestyle and wanted a taste of the high life before going back on her way to Paris, and hopefully he could get her there before Archie did something stupid. Or maybe this garden party was a way to stave off that loneliness of being kept in the garage and the kitchen as a kid.

 

“Is that the _brandy_?” He heard Fred asking exasperatedly.

 

“I find it sad that after all our years of marriage, distrust has crept into our relationship,” FP slurred.

 

Jughead had heard enough. It was time to find Betty and put what would hopefully be an end to this disastrous infatuation before anybody got hurt.

 

// //

 

Humming to herself, Betty swished her skirt back and forth across the tennis court and felt the magic of her childhood in her veins. The sound of the gate opening made her heart jump in her chest.

 

“Just me,” Jughead called apologetically, his silhouette taller and leaner than Archie’s, jacket unbuttoned, suspenders loose around his waist. As if she wouldn’t recognize him. Nor what his arrival probably meant.

 

“Jughead,” she breathed, hand to her chest. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be wandering around on my own when you were all nice enough to invite me over. I just needed a moment, and it’s been such a long time that I was curious to see if things were still the same.”

 

Clearing his throat, he tried not to pry into the ways she’d apparently blossomed in the last few years. “I know you were probably expecting Archie.” Before she could protest, he waved her off, the champagne glasses glimmering with a flash of moonlight. “He, for one, has never changed. Maybe added a few more songs to the roster, but...same old Archie.”

 

Smiling softly, she clasped her hand behind her back, swaying just enough that the silk shifted around her legs, girlish and womanly all at once. His gaze did a categorical sweep, trying to assess the risk of probing further.

 

“I don’t know what you said to him, but I haven’t seen him so giddy since he was kicked in the head by a polo horse. He’s got amnesia. Completely forgotten he’s engaged.”

 

She laughed, _almost_ ashamed by how amused she was that she had an effect on Archie the notable charmer. A ridiculous effect, to be sure, but Kevin would probably appreciate that he’d purchased the particular dress to inspire it.

 

“He keeps insisting he’s not tied to anyone. In fact, he’s quite persistent on that point.”

 

“Well now that he’s sat on a few _points,_ maybe that’ll jog his memory.” At her confused expression, he gestured, “Had an accident with a champagne glass.”

 

Her features went round in alarm. “Is he okay?”

 

“Nothing keeps Archie down for too long.”

 

“I suppose not,” she mused, pacing down the tennis court lines with the carefulness of a test. “He’s always had a certain brightness about him.”

 

“That’s his hair.”

 

Jughead liked her laugh. He hadn’t heard it much growing up, but it was nice, so he leaned into it and dramatically told her, “He wants you, by the way. A high honor.”

 

“I’m sure. But as you said, someone already has him, don’t they?” The way her gaze dropped demurely to the floor made his chest feel a little tighter. Girls who are out for money or a good time don’t tend to get shy like that.

 

“Depends on the day. He’s under the impression I’m going to tell you what a _great_ guy he is and how you should sacrifice your morals and run away with him so he can write a song about a girl named Betty.”

 

“Or Elizabeth,” she said offhandedly, pulling a little on the tennis net. “Or Veronica, maybe.”

 

“He’s not particular. Not that you’re not...beguiling. Betty has a nicer ring to it.” Clearing his throat, he handed off a glass of champagne, but she stared at it without taking a sip. “What’s the matter?”

 

“I don’t particularly like champagne,” she admitted. “I know it’s Archie’s favorite, but Paris turned me on to wine. It’s cheaper than water and pairs with food in a really great way. I feel like champagne only goes with cake and strawberries...”

 

Tugging at his hat, Jughead tried not to look as awkward as he felt. “Sadly, I have neither. I feel woefully unprepared. And hungry. Archie just comes here with the champagne and expects it to work its wonders.”

 

“I think we’ll manage. This place is pretty spectacular on its own.”

 

Her eyes glittered with wonder at the estate, and Jughead found himself settling against the tennis pole cap, watching her explore, idly chatting about the past and their travels as the champagne bubbled under their fingertips.

 

“Did you want to play?” He gestured to the tennis court with his head.

 

“In this dress?” She giggled, quickly biting down on her smile to stop the offending noise. Maybe there really was something about champagne and moonlight.

 

“Why did you come here in particular? Archie?”

 

“No.” She frowned at the net, stroking it with her free hand. “I guess I was just so used to thinking of this place as being a part of the party. The excitement.”

 

“Excitement,” he scoffed, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “That is another of Archie’s strengths. Always one to make his own fun at a stuffy garden party.”

 

Betty wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she watched Jughead bury his annoyance in his glass, not even swallowing. “You don’t have to drink it. If you hate it, I mean.”

 

His lips pressed together in a thin line, thinking, before a smirk emerged and he decidedly set the champagne aside. “Not my taste. Any of it, really.”

 

She crossed the court to look into his intelligent gray-blue eyes, willing to learn more about him. “Where was your place for romance, then? Or excitement?”

 

Furrowing his brow in contemplation, Jughead threw out the easiest answer he could think of. “I’d say the library. I even have my own crime board in my study, which is _riveting_ after a long day of handling my family, let me tell you.”

 

Giggling, she stepped forward. “A board dedicated to crime? I’d love to see it.”

 

“Maybe you will. That is how I get most of my dates. Tell them how to get rid of the bodies, open the safes, that sort of thing.”

 

At first, he seemed sarcastic, but once she tilted her head, searching for the truth, Jughead’s expression seemed to soften. They smiled at each other, a song wafting gently through the gardens. It seemed sweet. Perfect. Exactly the kind of connection she’d been looking for upon her return. Before things could sour, Betty felt she ought to go, setting down the champagne and gathering her skirts.

 

“Thank you for the company. For telling me about Archie, and for the champagne. I hope you enjoy the rest of party, Jughead.”

 

“You’re going to leave me here all alone?”

 

“I can’t imagine you’d want to spend your evening with me.”

 

“I’ll give it a shot,” he shrugged. “Archie told me to make sure you had a good time while he’s indisposed. So. What can I do for you?” She sort of gaped at him, not sure what to say as he adjusted his suit and suspenders and fixed her with a wary determination, like she was his mission for the night, his cleanup for the day.

 

“Am I being babysat?”

 

“God, no. It’s below my pay grade.”

 

She chuckled, turning away with a playful swish of the heavy fabric of her dress trailing behind her. “I didn’t think you’d need the money, Jughead. Father wasn’t much for babysitters. He’d probably find some way to spin it as undignified.”

 

“I can’t imagine what he thinks of _us_ then. Grown men needing to be ferried around, cooked for. You were fixing cars and making meals at thirteen.”

 

“Yes, but I needed to be doing those things. I don’t think either of us begrudge you the opportunity to invest in other talents. You have your wonderful work, writing and managing all those people and projects, Archie has music and sports, Fred has carpentry, and FP has all his parlor games and glass making. My father takes great pride in his job. I think he’d be upset if you didn’t give him the opportunity to showcase his own passion and skill. Besides, you all have so much on your plates, it’d be impossible to take care of _everything_ on your own.”

 

“Yeah, well, don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll keep Hal around. He’s a dedicated worker, and keeping a driver on hand is a lot better than paying off DUI’s and the newspapers, not to mention the bills we’d get just from buffing out Archie’s cars.”

 

“Maybe you should pay him more, then,” she teased, playing with the edge of her skirt.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

The way he stared at her unnerved her. Like his handshake could crumble and erect empires and symphonies. “No.” Turning slightly away, she tried to get her bearings on why he was really here. He almost never stayed for the parties, often eating and retreating somewhere in the study. “You know, when I saw you with the champagne and without Archie, I was sure you were going to try and get rid of me.”

 

“No. I’m far too practical to try and reason with Archie when it comes to love.”

 

She shot him a surprised glance. “Love?”

 

Jughead offered her a one-shouldered shrug. “He tends to fall hard and fast. One of the perks of being an artistic soul, I suppose.”

 

“But you’re an artist, and you don’t—well, I guess I don’t know if you fall the same way.”

 

“I don’t,” he said flatly, eyes dark and glossy in the shadows of the tennis enclosure.

 

Their home had always been so full of love. Maybe that’s why he didn’t need to seek it elsewhere. Although that didn’t explain why Archie was so keen on having someone around. She wasn’t sure how she felt about love anymore, other than it was necessary to live a full life.

 

“So you’re _not_ going to talk us out of seeing each other? Not that I’d—”

 

“It’d be a waste of words. So there’d be a big fight in the family. A broken engagement. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

 

Betty watched him with growing uncertainty, noting the bags under his eyes, remembering the times he’d had to cover for Archie before. For his fathers. “I’m sorry that my presence seems to trouble you.”

 

“Just don’t make it a habit.” He smirked, the light not quite reaching his eyes. Her own heart stuttered, her gaze going down to her hands, willing herself not to pick at her nails or her palms in an attempt to smother the past. “You’re not like most girls Archie chases after. You’re smart, and probably still sweet. You’ve known us our whole lives. You’re not looking to steal secrets or get a leg up on your music career. I doubt you’re seeking cameras or attention in the family box for his polo games. And you’re not here for money, are you?”

 

“Of course not!” she bristled, gathering her skirts.

 

“I thought not.” His exhaustion seemed to melt away as he circled her, his tone teasing, his eyes bright. “So you wouldn’t buzz off? Not even for a thousand dollars?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ten thousand dollars?”

 

“No.”

 

His tone leveled, face leaning in to studying hers so carefully that she almost shivered under the intensity. “A hundred thousand dollars?”

 

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. Not at the money, but at the proximity. She’d never been this close to Jughead before. “No.”

 

His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Good girl.” He kissed her cheek, sending a jolt of surprise straight through her veins as he turned away. “So what do you say I act as the mediator? I can be the messenger of love while he’s indisposed. All I ask is that you wait on dating him until after the Lodge deal goes through and he officially breaks up with Veronica.”

 

“Obviously I’m not going to date him while he’s...” Betty trailed off, chest flushing at the thought of it. “I didn’t even say I was going to _date_ him at all!”

 

“Please. Everyone _dates_ Archie once he sets his sights on them, even if they don’t call it that in the aftermath.”

 

“I’m not _everyone_ , Jughead. I’d like to think we all respect each other a bit more than that.” Crossing her arms, she tried not to let him see a flush creeping under her skin again. Because his family didn’t really know her the same way she knew them. Never spent hours watching and studying and admiring. “Just because I’ve come back from Paris doesn’t mean I’ve adopted a lax view on love affairs. I did have a crush on Archie as a kid, but that hardly means I’m going to jump into bed with him the first chance I get a few years later. That sort of thing... _means_ something to me. I’d want it to be more than a weekend’s diversion, even if that makes me sound silly or immature. You all mean a lot to me. Even if I haven’t meant the same to you.”

 

Confused, he stared at her like she’d made the wrong move in chess on purpose, throwing her pieces into harm’s way.

 

She knew he—that _they_ probably didn’t feel the same way about her as she did about them, that it probably seemed suspect that she’d come to Archie’s hookup spot if she _didn’t_ want something to happen. But she just needed to see it again. To feel _that_ again. For closure, if nothing else.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”

 

“It’s fine,” she sighed, feeling tense and a little more than tired. “I’m sure it’s frustrating having to deal with his particular way of pursuing his passions.”

 

“I’ve been doing it all my life.” He turned to her, dark hair falling out of his hat and into his eyes, the image striking her as unbearably handsome. “Managing. Making sure he doesn’t get too burned up in the process. He’s my brother. I want him to be happy. Stable would be nice, but happy is a close second.”

 

“I don’t want you to be _un_ happy, Juggie.”

 

He tilted his chin up, the moonlight catching something dark and glittering in his eyes. “Well, what do you say to a dance then? Round out the evening? That way we can all win.”

 

She couldn’t say no to that. Besides, it would have been a perfect waste not to properly dance in that dress. When else would she even have the opportunity to dance with Jughead? She hadn’t seen him _dance_ at one of these parties in _years_ , and even then it was very sporadic, usually with a business associate of their fathers. She moved into his embrace, surprised at the slow, steady way he guided her to the song. So much of her waist was warmed by his hand, more than she might’ve ever imagined. It didn’t take particular charm or grace to waltz without stepping on anybody’s toes, but she’d never seen Jughead move so quietly. So charmingly. She quickly pressed her cheek to his shoulder in an attempt to quell her racing heart, push her energy into her imagination. That maybe it was Archie holding her. That maybe he’d chosen _her_ that night so long ago.

 

But that image kept sliding away because everything was _already_ nice. There was no point dwelling on what could have happened in the past. She was _here_. Thanks, in part, to the man dancing with her.

 

As she slipped into a pleasant, relaxed sigh, the arms at her waist tightened.

 

“I suppose if Archie were here right now, he’d probably kiss you.”

 

She smiled, not thinking anything of it. “Only if he were _very_ brave. I suppose I’d always wondered what it would be like to be kissed here, though.”

 

Her eyes were still closed when she felt him still. His shoulder leaned back, just enough for him to be able to see her face properly. He looked from her eyes to her lips, her breath hitching as she did the same. Before she even realized what she wanted, he closed the gap between them with a firm, chaste, kiss. She was so shocked, so swept up in the romantic gesture that she actually felt herself swoon a little. The music, the champagne, their bodies pressed so sweetly together.

 

She blinked up at him in dull astonishment.

 

“Well, now we know,” he whispered, his gaze more mysterious than any magical midnight. “Welcome home, Betty.”

 

And it was Jughead’s voice, not Archie’s, that had her quietly pressed into a strong shoulder, wondering at the power of the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you feel about the reunion and the garden party? Jughead's got some secret moves! Both to woo and wound. Any fav scenes or sentences or do you want to throw champagne on someone? Hopefully not me. I swear, that young Betty/Archie kiss was probably on the cheek, given their age difference at the time. But I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Terrible impulses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No dancing in the moonlight, but there is another date this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Archie was moaning something fierce. Jughead finally rolled his eyes and tapped his butt with the handle of his umbrella.

 

“Ouch! Be careful with that thing.”

 

“Just wanted to see if there was an off button on all your moaning.”

 

“I’m not moaning because of _that_ , I’m moaning because of _Betty_.” Jughead balked in surprise. Archie twisted, gesturing to his posterior. “I mean, I’m stuck here on my stomach all day and she’s left alone. What kind of welcome home is that? I called her dad and he won’t let me talk to her. How are we supposed to reconnect if I’m stuck in here and Hal won’t let me in? First I invite her out, and then I don’t follow up? What kind of impression is that going to make?”

 

“Not a very good one, considering you’re still engaged.”

 

Archie lifted his head. “What?”

 

“Never you mind, Archiekins,” he sighed, twirling the umbrella like a baton. It wasn’t like an umbrella was going to protect them from Hurricane Lodge. “Maybe we can get you a hammock with the ass part cut out. You’ll be in stitches for a few days, right?”

 

Archie scooted up onto his elbows. “Yeah. Hey, Jug? Would you…would you talk to her for me? Take her out? Make her feel welcome or at least make her want to stay? I know the dads are gonna have a heart attack, but—”

 

“Sure, Arch. I’d be happy to. What do you say I get her off the property and out on the boat? Would that suit your nefarious purposes?”

 

“That’s a great idea!”

 

The door slammed open with such ferocity that the panes shook. Jughead absently noted that they really _should_ replace a few of their own windows with the new disaster-proof stuff just from Archie-related incidents alone.

 

“Archiekins!” Veronica announced, black cape billowing dramatically behind her.

 

“Ronnie!”

 

She dragged a chair up beside his lounger, perching dramatically at his side with all the grace and fire of Scarlett O’Hara. “How’s your...?” Her furrowed brow indicated the swollen part of his ass.

 

“I needed a few stitches and the doctor said I have to stay off of it.” He pushed up on his elbows, lip jutted out in a pout without even realizing it. “I’m sorry I won’t be much fun the next few days, but it should heal up fast enough, and then we can talk about…what’s next. You and me, you know? We’ve been jumping around for a while now, and I think it’s time we had a serious talk about it.”

 

Jughead widened his eyes, shaking his head. Breaking up with Veronica was not on the table quite yet. Hopefully Archie was smart enough not to do it while he still had an open wound. Even Veronica straightened in surprise.

 

“Oh, all right Archiekins, we can have one of our _commitment_ talks later. You and your clumsiness, I swear. It’s a good thing I was able to get those drinks out of my dress. I can’t believe you’ve never had a serious sports injury.” Jughead chose not to chime in on that one. “So now what? I’m guessing we won’t be going horseback riding.”

 

“Actually, I need my dressing changed in about an hour,” Archie admitted sheepishly. “You think you could handle it? Or at least get the doctor for me before you head out?”

 

“Oh, come on, Arch,” Jughead interjected. “Just because you sat on your attempt to reconnect with your favorite girl doesn’t relegate her to nurse duty.”

 

Veronica turned her chin up in determination. “You think a Lodge isn’t brave enough to handle a little blood? There are _plenty_ of things I’m amazing at, and getting Archiekins here off his rear end is one of them.”

 

“I’m gonna leave you two to it.” Jughead exited just as Veronica unlatched her cape, locking the door behind him.

 

He let out a deep breath, trying not to think of his own bravery from the night before. It had just felt...right. Maybe that’s why Archie always brought girls back there. Jughead had presumed it was because of some subliminal desire to _score_ where he was often bettered. But with the music, and the dancing, and the warmth, it had been... _nice_. Certainly a more intimate welcome home for Betty than he was anticipating on giving.

 

The annoying inkling that he’d followed in his brother’s footsteps hadn’t exactly sat well, though. Betty hadn’t said much afterwards, allowing him to walk her home with his hand on the small of her back. They offered each other timid smiles at the door and _thank you_ ’s that felt bizarre and deeper than the night. It reminded him of before she left. Not her demeanor, just the juxtaposition. She was _here_. She seemed _happy_.

 

Any other emotions were all a bit muddled.

 

When he went to his room, he found FP meddling through his papers with a glass of brandy in his hand.

 

“Get out.”

 

FP gestured grandly to the propositions on his desk. “Boy, what are we gonna do about your brother? If this deal with the Lodges goes belly-up, our whole business and maybe our Achilles tendons could be on the line. Not to mention Hal already called Fred, and he’s on my ass about _talking to our son_.”

 

“I’m handling it,” Jughead said curtly, tossing his hat on the bed so he could run his hands through his hair.

 

“Are you paying her off? Because god knows Archie won’t learn his lesson and stop chasing those damn skirts.”

 

“Like you were a saint at his age?”

 

“I’m just saying! How much is this gonna set us back?”

 

Jughead sighed, rifling around for his boat shorts and shoes. “Just…time. She doesn’t want money. She might not even want Archie.”

 

FP snorted. “Really?”

 

_Right_ , _because what girl didn’t?_ Jughead thought, trying not to dwell on it. “I talked to her, and she said she wasn’t sold on the idea. Couldn’t be bought, either.”

 

Rolling his head back and laughing without mirth, FP flopped onto Jughead’s bed. “What’s she gotta indulge Lover Boy for? He’s got a six-pack, but why can’t she pick somebody else? Somebody less _involved_ in this crazy business.”

 

“You can’t always choose who you fall in love with.”

 

“Love?”

 

“She liked him as a kid. I’m working on it. I think she might just want some nostalgic magical weekend to make up for Hal shoving her over the garage all these years.” Jughead stared disbelievingly at the two shirts in his hand, unable to decide which one to put on. Getting dressed was usually not a complicated endeavor for him.

 

“What do you mean? Did you hire someone to take her out?”

 

“No.”

 

Jughead wrangled on a polo he hadn’t worn in years and stepped out in front of the mirror. It was tight. _Way_ too tight.

 

FP burst out laughing.

 

“You don’t mean _you_ , do you?”

 

Indignant, Jughead tugged down the shirt. “I might. Besides, as long as she’s with me, she won’t be going after Archie, which means the Lodges won’t go after us.”

 

“I just hope you know what to do with a girl.”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it’ll come to me.”

 

He popped the collar, just to test it, only to be rewarded but another resounding chorus of laughter from his father behind him.

 

// //

 

Folding her dress proved to be a more emotionally taxing task than she'd initially anticipated. She wasn’t sure if she should re-hang it for another party, or if she was _staying_ with her father. After graduation, she’d just had the powerful urge to go _home_.

 

Things were different than she expected.

 

She pressed her fingers to her lips.

 

_Very_ different.

 

Her talk with Kevin late last night kept her jet lag at bay, but her nerves were fried. She’d relayed every single detail, including the heart-stopping, confusing, but wonderful moment that _Jughead_ had kissed her. That and his dancing had just about bowled her over.

 

Kevin gushed about the whole scene and the _brother vs brother_ love triangle she was sure to inspire. “It’s not like that,” she'd insisted. “I don’t even know if he likes me. I’m not sure if Archie _likes_ me, to be honest.”

 

“Of course they like you. You’re chic, and smart, and sexy, as were those dresses. Besides, does it matter how _much_ they like you? It’s not like you’re planning on falling madly in love and ruining your father’s employment. Can’t you indulge a little curiosity about what it’s like to be with them now that you’re all grown up before you settle into some dreary job somewhere?” She'd hesitated, not sure what to say.

 

“I don’t think you can _plan_ on falling in love.”

 

“Well _plan_ on enjoying the hot rich American boys’ attention while you have it. Not all of us have that luxury.” She’d rolled her eyes, asking him about _his_ love life, which kept them talking until he had to go to work and her exhausted, overstimulated brain finally got to rest.

 

It stunned her when her father cleared his throat over breakfast to tell her that Jughead graciously offered to take her out in the boat while Hal had to work.

 

She was unsure if it was a date or yet another opportunity for him to make fun of Archie under the pretense of talking to her for him. Maybe he was just lonely.

 

Regardless, Betty felt a surge of energy as she whirred around the room and got ready, nearly jumping out of her skin when she went outside and saw Jughead casually leaning beside the door. No one had _ever_ been waiting for her here. Ever.

 

His eyebrows rose in concern, one hand going out to catch her elbow. “Are you all right?”

 

She tried to tame her pounding heart. “Yes. I didn’t realize you’d be here. I figured you’d be waiting at the dock.”

 

“What kind of escort would meet you down at the dock?” He frowned, running a nervous hand through unruly, beautiful, black hair. It was more voluminous than usual, which made her think he hadn’t worn his hat all day.

 

“So is this a date?”

 

“Do you want it to be?” he asked, his voice not in its usual octave, just a hair shy of dubious.

 

Embarrassed, she tucked her hair more firmly into place. “I don’t know. I think my father would have a heart attack if he knew he approved me to go out with his employers.”

 

“I figured if he was so uptight about books as a kid, it was safest to imply getting you off the estate was a way to keep Archie out of sight and out of mind. I wasn’t sure if your dad was still trying to field your associations.”

 

“He tries. Paris was the last decision he ever made for me. Well, until now, I guess,” she smiled, more a force of habit than anything else. “Although it could be argued I would’ve approved a nice day of sailing anyway, had it been offered to me directly.”

 

“Next time, madame.”

 

“Mercí, monsieur. And I’m unmarried, so it’s mademoiselle.”

 

“Thank you for educating this ugly American.”

 

“I don’t think anyone in your family could possibly be construed as ugly.”

 

He rolled his eyes, leaning in to kiss her cheek. Out of instinct, she kissed his other one after, blushing under his surprise. “That’s the French way,” she explained, nails raking through her hair so it didn’t itch to touch him anywhere else.

 

His shoulder turned towards the dock, opening his frame. “Shall we?”

 

“Ouí.”

 

As they walked down, Betty taking his proffered arm, she peered into the boat. “Should I have brought something for the cooler?” At his blank stare, she tried to contain a laugh. “For lunch. For you. Pop and I used to have to feed you every hour or so.”

 

Blinking, Jughead looked back at the house. “I didn’t even think of that. Pop’s already left for his break.”

 

“Come on, I can make us a little something.” To his surprise, she dragged him off to the estate, practically skipping. Hopefully it wasn’t because of the proximity to his brother.

 

“Why are you so excited?”

 

“You know I studied to be a chef, and now I get the best eater I’ve ever met to sample my work. I’d think of you in Paris, sometimes.” Quirking an eyebrow, he held the door for her, thankful they had a kitchen entrance so they wouldn’t have to risk passing by Archie or his _nurse_. Betty seemed to remember just where everything was, quickly fixing them some mouthwatering sandwiches. “If I burned something or made far too much, I’d think, _Jughead would love this._ Even if it was lumpy or just a tad overcooked.”

 

With a chuckle, Jughead snuck around her waist for a piece of meat. “That does sound like me. Ever the optimist.” His tongue chased the slimy bit, and he couldn’t help the warmth that flooded his veins as he maintained eye contact with Betty, the contemplative depth of the green pulling him in.

 

“And such a culinary opportunist,” she teased lightly, tearing off a bit more meat and offering it up to him. It took a strange amount of self-restraint not to tear it straight from her hands with his teeth. But that’d be insanely improper, not to mention forward of him.

 

“That’s me.”

 

Veronica entered, as always, with a bang. Flinching, Jughead moved in front of Betty in a defensive stance.

 

“What are you looking for, Ron?”

 

Lips folding primly at his use of a nickname, Veronica’s hands found purchase on her hips. “Where’s your lounge liquor?”

 

“Ah. Yes. My dad probably moved it at some point during the party. Try the second room on the left.”

 

Although Veronica cast a shrewd eye on Betty’s visible bare legs, she left without much more than a challenging eyebrow in his direction. “I’m off to play a drinking game. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

 

Jughead let out a silent sigh of relief that she probably assumed Betty was _his_ date. Even if she kind of was.

 

Betty, for her part, trained her gaze on the sandwiches, neatly putting them into a small bag. A tightness wormed into her chest at not being introduced, of all the reasons why. “Was that…?”

 

Brushing his hands free of crumbs, Jughead took her hand and the sandwiches to hurry along. “Don’t worry about her, Betts. Come on. We’ve got a boat to catch.”

 

// //

 

Everything tipped just a little as Betty stepped into the boat, her hand automatically reaching for Jughead’s to steady herself, only to find it already outstretched. “Mercí, monsieur.”

 

“Avec plaisir.”

 

Eyebrows arching, Betty squeezed his hand. “You speak French?”

 

“Enough for some.” He shrugged, helping her down and unroping the boat with his free hand. “Are you surprised?”

 

“I’m not sure. There have been so many unexpected moments this trip. I suppose a man of the world such as yourself speaking a bit of French shouldn’t be a total surprise.”

 

“Okay, I’ll try to come up with another one. How about...I don’t know how to drive this boat?”

 

Laughing, Betty leaned over and helped him with the ropes and buoys, her little shirt raising up on her midriff just enough that he felt the sun warming on his neck.

 

A boating adventure had never been a part of her projected fantasies, but the day just kept getting brighter right along with her attitude. With Jughead’s dry humor and the beautiful weather it was hard not to get excited for the hours to come.

 

Eventually, he was able to convince her to sit down and enjoy the view while he guided them into a place where they could both relax.

 

Betty’s hair looked beautiful all pinned up, a stylish kerchief fashioned into a headband. But Jughead couldn’t stop staring at her, wondering what had happened to it. The ponytail.

 

“What?” She grinned, so perfectly framed by the sun and the sea that he wanted to take a picture of it. For Hal, of course. Jughead had never seen her so happy and he was still getting used to it. That he might have to take that away…

 

“Just…your hair. I thought you always used to wear a ponytail.”

 

“Yes, well according to my friend Kevin, that was terribly out of style. Waves are all the rage these days,” she teased, fluffing her hair for emphasis. “You should know, Juggie. You’ve always been in style.” She reached forward, plucking playfully at one of his curls, miraculously exposed without a beanie to hide them. “I can’t imagine why you kept such pretty hair hidden all your life.”

 

“It’s my best-kept secret.”

 

“Really?” She arched an eyebrow, tucking her knees up to her chest. The earnest, teasing curiosity made him feel a little sick. Because that certainly wasn’t his best-kept secret. _She_ was. At least, at that moment she was. “Are you all right?”

 

“Yeah, I just—being at sea makes me think of things. Things that are probably best forgotten and ignored.”

 

She pushed a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “A woman?”

 

Tightening his jaw, Jughead looked out at the water.

 

Thankfully, she let it go. She helped him with the minor adjustments to help them sail, a dutiful and quick learner in their little boat almost specifically designed for dates. Or just the four of them, the dads and sons. It was too small for very many people, and it was easier that way. None of the crowding like at the garden parties, or author summits, or anything like that. Jughead hated the forced interactions of crowds, but he’d gotten used to it. Sarcasm and stoicism. That was pretty much his repartee, what people knew him for. Maybe a few like Archie got to see his playful side. He wondered if Betty ever really saw that when they were kids.

 

“How’s Archie?” she asked, stroking a braided rope at her side, watching him curiously, the sea reflected in both of their eyes.

 

“Fine. A little depressed the world can’t see his abs for a few days, but he’ll recover.”

 

Betty giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth. At his probing frown, she lowered it. “Sorry. I hate girls who giggle all the time.”

 

“Why? Shouldn’t you enjoy the company of friends?”

 

“It’s different with men. It feels like an act, or like your insides have turned to champagne.”

 

“I like your laugh.”

 

His smile could be surprisingly soft when it wasn’t sharpening his confidence or wit.

 

But Jughead kept looking at her with such carefulness, almost like it _hurt_ him. She wasn’t the sun. Looking for so long shouldn’t burn or anything like that. Betty pushed her toes out to nudge his, hoping the playfulness might ease the atmosphere. “You’re very sweet, you know. I bet you have a lot of friends who enjoy your jokes and laugh. Maybe even a special someone.”

 

“Hardly,” he snorted, pulling his foot away. “I have Archie, my dads, and maybe Pop, but that’s about it.”

 

“But you’ve been to so many schools and places.”

 

“Lots of people, lots of business acquaintances and partnerships, but I tend not to collect anyone too close to me, which is exactly how I like it, Mademoiselle Cooper. Loners tend to get a lot more writing done.”

 

“Why?” At his piercing gaze, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I mean, why don’t you seek more friends? You certainly have the means to.”

 

“No man walks alone by choice. Most of the people in _our_ circle tend to only be impressed with money and privilege, of which we have plenty. But they don’t care about books, or history, or anything besides which summer house they’re staying in that weekend. The only reason they go to the movies is because they’re hoping to be in them someday, or find themselves on the same yacht as a starlet.”

 

“Not you, though?”

 

“Not me.”

 

Betty leaned back, regarding him carefully. “I used to watch you coming and going from my room above the garage. You’d always have your papers and knit hat, so many layers it’d be hard to see your skin. I thought you didn’t want to belong to anyone. Didn’t care for anyone.”

 

“Cold, hard, outsider, right? Ice in his veins and no fire in his heart?”

 

“I don’t know about that,” she started, picking at her tiny white shorts. “I think you’re a very passionate person. Your stories are, which means you must be, too. You just haven’t found the right people to share it with yet.”

 

He let that sit for a moment. “You’ve read my stories?”

 

“Of course I have. You’re probably the only other person who loves the estate as much as I do, and you capture it much more vibrantly than I ever could.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt that.” Her smile turned shy for a moment, like when she was a child, but there was a pride there, too. It seemed surreal that the sad, scared girl he’d found under a car in the garage grew into a brilliant woman of the world. 

 

The waves and breeze kept gently pushing them out to sea. She hummed something pleasant, if a little sad. Something Parisian, most likely, but it stopped once she caught him listening, watching.

 

“It’s called _La Vie en Rose_ ,” she supplied.

 

_“I am looking at the world through rose-colored glasses.”_

 

Her face brightened. “You know it? Ah.” She slapped his thigh, the impact rippling through him. “I promised I would stop being surprised.”

 

Shifting to redistribute the tension bubbling under his skin, Jughead looked away. “I can’t take credit for that one. Your postcard. Your dad left it in the car. It painted quite the picture. You should consider writing professionally, Betty.”

 

“Oh, stop. I wouldn’t even know what to say.”

 

“Sure you would. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you don’t have an important voice.”

 

Hands folded lax in her lap, Betty processed the idea. “I suppose you’re right. Even though I’m not sure anyone was listening to me much when I was a girl.”

 

Guilt twitched in Jughead’s thumbs. “Yeah, well, my family never much listened to me, either.”

 

“But you’re so wise…”

 

Jughead snorted.

 

“You are. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you.”

 

The frankness startled him, stilled him. Everything felt horribly, prickling and real.

 

Betty must’ve been able to sense it, because she immediately turned away with a falsely bright tone to change the subject. “Neither would Archie, probably.” Jughead laughed, maybe a little harshly, but at least it gave her breathing room to move on. “But the luckiest person amidst your acquaintance was probably your dog.”

 

“Hot Dog?” He smiled, surprised she remembered.

 

“Yes. You’d always spoil him, feeding him extra. You’d take naps on the hammock, and he’d wake you up if Archie was about to come to try and tip you over.”

 

“He was a very good guard,” Jughead chuckled, leaning his face into the sun, wondering how much of his life she’d seen without him even knowing.

 

“The best.” Betty stretched in the breeze. “I always wanted a cat, but I was afraid that Hot Dog might not like that. Father said your family wouldn’t approve.”

 

“Hot Dog would’ve loved a cat. Probably tried to herd them into catching other friends for him to play with.”

 

“I guess I should’ve asked you, instead. I was—you might remember, I was a bit shy.”

 

“So was I.” He pushed a water bottle along the seam of the seats. “Probably why we were never close friends. It’s a shame. I think I would’ve liked to have a friend like you.”

 

The sincerity in his tone made her heart beat faster. Without thinking, she put her hand over his and squeezed affectionately.

 

“Me too. We’re friends now though, aren’t we?”

 

“I guess we are,” he mused lightly.

 

His thumb swiped over her knuckles and his smirk made her toes crinkle in her shoes. It was all very confusing. She withdrew her hand, pulling at the knot in her shirt at her midriff, wondering if everything was a bit much.

 

“Besides, we’ll be seeing each other around the estate for a while, won’t we?”

 

The smirk remained, but the softness in his eyes turned hard towards the horizon. “Oh, joy. I get to watch Archie try to perfect your tennis swing again.”

 

“Don’t mock. It’ll be fun. I like learning things, whether it be tennis or a recipe. I’m glad I went to Paris and experienced so many new things, things I’d only dreamed about when I lived above the garage. Paris taught me to be…freer. Friendlier.”

 

“Is that what Parisians are known for?” he asked dryly.

 

She ignored his cynicism in favor of scooting closer. “I think that sort of confidence helps a person. You even said so yourself, that you’d be surprised about the new memories you could make.”

 

“I guess that’s true. I was too little to remember much of Paris besides my dad constantly trying to get us to go to vineyards and wineries.”

 

“You might want to revisit. The city could surprise you.”

 

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the picnic basket and started stress-eating a sandwich, handing off hers with a full mouth. “Paris is for lovers and winos. Probably why I never saw the appeal.”

 

“None?”

 

The sandwich went down his throat with all the grace of swallowing a fist. “Who would I go to France with?”

 

“Archie? Me?” she reasoned, batting her eyelashes playfully. His little grin and full cheeks made her own hurt from smiling.

 

H e wiped his lips for traces of crumbs, tongue occasionally catching a bit of bread. “Archie might appreciate the more _physical_ aspects of the culture. I doubt he’d go with us to the museums and cafés, and if you’re with Archie...”

 

“Nonsense! We could make him go. Even if it did end up being just you and me...” Jughead raised his eyebrows. Feeling anxious, she rubbed his arm just to have something good to do with her hands. “I promise, Paris is not just a place for lovers. It’s for friends. Great friends. Although if you find yourself a nice rainy day, you might meet your own lover. People in France get very romantic about the rain.”

 

“Did you have a string of storm-inspired suitors, mademoiselle?”

 

“No, not me.” She blushed, crossing her ankles. “My friend, Kevin. I’m sort of...hoping that I’ll finally get to live out romance the way I dreamed I would. Paris itself was my lover when I was sad and alone. Maybe I’ve fallen in love before, but...maybe it was just a girlish infatuation. One day, I’m hoping it will be more than a dreamy feeling, you know? That sense of belonging with another person. It may sound silly, but that’s what I want.”

 

“It’s not silly. It sounds nice.” Unrealistic, maybe, but nice. Archie fell in love all the time. And sitting on the boat with Betty, with her curved smile and bright eyes, he could see why. 

 

Jughead pondered her postcard, her thoughts about living life to the fullest. Never running away from life, from love.

 

For all his guardedness, Jughead considered telling Betty about the Lodges. About the risk involved, not just for her—but for everyone.

 

The shore and time itself approached far too quickly. His thoughts remained a jumbled mess, like pulling one might cause dozens of others to tumble and stray.

 

Sensing his turmoil, Betty turned to him as they started to dock. “Juggie, is something wrong? You’re not upset about Paris, are you? About your family, or is it Archie? What can I do to help?”

 

“No, it’s—we’re all a very indulgent group. Maybe me least of all. But my father always says it’s best to give in to impulses. Especially the terrible ones.”

 

She laughed, a beautiful, light thing, and placed a hand on his thigh. “Maybe it’s time you did something for yourself for once, and let _them_ clean up after _you_.”

 

Perhaps the hand on his thigh wasn’t intentional, and perhaps he just hadn’t liked women well enough to see their touch as anything but an annoying distraction before, but Jughead felt like he’d been slapped with a red-hot poker. He turned, the passion in his gaze searing into the blonde beside him. Betty’s laugh drifted off into something dreamier.

 

“I didn’t realize that you liked me reckless, Betts.”

 

“I…like you very much, Jughead. Just as you are.”

 

She saw it coming in the way he tilted his face towards her, felt it in her pounding heart. Jughead leaned over, her hand still on his thigh, his palm coming around her shoulder, and kissed her so soundly she wasn’t sure she’d ever have enough breath to laugh again.

 

“Juggie…” She looked up at him with big, shiny eyes as his thumbs traced the swell of her lips with fascination.

 

He kissed her again, closing his eyes so tightly it was like he was trying to see something in the dark, feel it with his mouth. They started leaning back in the boat, hidden from view, her body protected from the harsh wood of the floor by his arm. Trembling, his hand made its way along her bare waist, just under the knot in her shirt.

 

“Juggie—”

 

He was so far gone that he didn’t even realize she was trembling, too. His hand splayed across her bare stomach, lost in the feeling of her warm lips reciprocating against his. Breathing his name. Her knees jostled with his, hand gripping tight on his thigh while the other trailed up to his windswept hair. He wanted her _everywhere_.

 

“Wait! Stop!” she gasped, sitting upwards with such violence that his lips stung with the hasty retreat.

 

Eyes wide, he stared at her. Kissing her like that wasn’t part of the plan. Not really, even if it probably should have been.

 

“Weren’t you supposed to be talking up Archie? And now you’re moving in on me? I thought you were trying to look out for him,” she protested, brow furrowed, slightly swollen lip trembling. “Unless you think I’m better off out of the picture? I—” Her fingers went to her mouth, trying to trace back a memory. “The tennis court was one thing, but this—I’m not sure—is this a game?”Before he could comment, she got up and was leaping out of the boat and onto the dock.

 

“Betty, wait!” He panicked, scrambling up.

 

“And here I thought you’d already seen me at my lowest,” she rambled, loosening and retying the knot at her stomach in an attempt to conceal as much skin as possible.

 

Practically jogging, he tried to catch up to her. “Didn’t you just say we should give in to our impulses?”

 

“Not when they hurt other people!”

 

“Oh, but going after a guy with a mobster fiancé isn’t a problem, right? And _by the way_ , Archie? Not exactly keen on _impulse control,_ but you knew that already, didn’t you?” He took a sharp breath, astounded at his own frustration.

 

Taken aback, her jaw hung slack. She whirled on Jughead with such an indignant expression that he almost fell over. “What? So liking Archie as a kid makes me shallow and naïve? You’re his _brother_. I thought you loved him, too!”

 

“I do!”

 

She shook her head, tears gathered in her eyes. “I don’t understand, Jughead. I don’t know how you can claim to be my friend, claim to support Archie and me, and then _look_ at me like you do.”

 

She didn’t know why she didn’t say _touch_. It was the _touch_ that was the problem, wasn’t it? Not the glassy way he was regarding her. His long eyelashes and boyish smirk made her ache, remembering the way he’d caressed her skin, the way he made her feel like she was on fire and tingling all the same. _Seen_. _Felt. Loved._

 

People like Kevin might be fluid in love, even Archie. But not Betty. She was steadfast. Passionate. _Dedicated_. She struggled with her nails just above her palm beds.

 

“I don’t know how I can claim to be a good friend or lover when I’m feeling this way, either. Maybe I am shallow, just like those people you hate on all your yachts, because one afternoon with you and I...”

 

“I don’t think you’re shallow, Betty. I think you’re...a smart, passionate girl. And I think Archie—”

 

“You think Archie what?” 

 

A jovial voice broke them out of their heated discussion as Archie padded down to join them in a robe with a suspicious protrusion where his butt would normally sit. Catching their looks, he explained, “Ronnie got one of the help to pin a pillow into the lining of this robe so I could walk around a bit without having to worry about my stitches. How was the sailing? Smooth, I hope!”

 

At Betty’s stiff upper lip and glassy-eyed expression, Archie shot a concerned glance over to Jughead.

 

“That bad? Don’t worry, Betty. When I’m all better, I’ll take you out and show you what a real seaman can do.” Archie placed a comforting hand on her arm, rubbing away the goosebumps on her skin. Jughead swallowed the bile gurgling in the back of his throat at the sight of it.

 

“I don’t think I understand sailing at all,” Betty said stiffly, not meeting either of their eyes.

 

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Jughead tensed his shoulders. It wasn’t like they could talk _there._ Not with her precious Archie around her shoulders.

 

“I’ll leave you two to it. Feel better, Arch.”

 

Jughead clambered up the hill feeling every bit a scoundrel, but not for kissing Betty or “betraying” Archie, disturbingly enough. He felt terrible for not warning her, for not being honest about it. About everything. Their next date, he would tell her. He had to.

 

Archie was confused by Betty’s worried expression as she folded her arms and watched Jughead retreat to the main house. “You doing okay? I know Jughead’s a little odd, but he’s such a smart, funny guy, you have to love him.”

 

“I’m not sure we should see each other,” Betty said desperately, rubbing her own arms in a fight against the chill. “I thought—I mean, I love your family, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just can’t—things are different now. You’re both treating me like I’m still the girl who can be swept off my feet with a distraction, that it doesn’t mean anything, but I’ve wanted your happiness for so long that to be a part of anything that might hurt any of you is—”

 

“Hey, easy. It’s all right. Jughead’s doing a big favor for us. If he wasn’t smoothing things over with our dads, they’d probably ship me off to a convent or wherever guys go. A monk-vent? I don’t know. Indulge us just a little longer, all right? And then when I’m all better, I’ll talk to Ronnie, and it’ll be you and me smooth sailing. Okay?”

 

“Okay, but—”

 

“No buts! I’ve already got one to worry about.” He grinned, pulling her in by the waist.

 

She nodded with uncertainty, hugging Archie close to avoid any possibility of his lips. But his embrace didn’t comfort her like she’d expected it to. It didn’t feel warm or electric at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you all understand why Betty feels conflicted and concerned about having a tryst with Jughead. But wasn't it a nice little lunch and yacht date for our folks? Anyway, let me know your thoughts! Imagining the Andrews-Jones and Cooper clan in Paris together is a reality show waiting to happen.


	4. Paris is for lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the final chapter! I hope it's everything you've been hoping for, because these two have waited long enough to truly see each other for what they could be. Let's get some romance!

Rubbing his face with the haphazard hope of scraping exhaustion away, Jughead blearily realized he’d forgotten to put his hat back on. “Shit,” he muttered, feeling around in his bag for it. Leaning his head back, he waited for the rest of the world to cave in on him.

 

“Everything all right, sir?”

 

“Yeah. Just…my hat.”

 

“Would you like me to drive back and fetch it for you, sir?”

 

“No. Thanks, Cooper. Oh, um,” he blinked, not sure if it was appropriate to ask, especially considering the awkward brush-off he’d gotten after calling their home line the night before. “Would you be able to drive me and Betty to the double feature tonight?”

 

“I’d rather not, sir.”

 

“Right.” Jughead tapped his thighs. “I can take her on the bike, then.”

 

“If I may, sir?”

 

Jughead cringed, ready for yet another hurdle in his life like their chauffeur running him over with the car. “Sure.”

 

“I don’t like you taking my daughter out. Not you specifically, sir, but even Archibald. Her _canoodling_ with either of you is going to end up with our families’ names tarnished in the papers. You’ll recover kindly enough. But Betty—as much as I hate to say it, I almost wish she’d never come back from Paris.”

 

“I understand the feeling.”

 

Hal Cooper squinted at him in the rearview mirror, and Jughead tried to perk up enough to respond in his best _talking to people older than him_ voice. “With all due respect, I also think it’s in her best interest to steer clear of the potential scandal of Andrews-Jones. I’ve been wracking my brain for the easiest solution, and unfortunately, the best I could come up with short-term was to distract her myself. At least then the Lodges wouldn’t pick up on the trail and it would give us more time to think.”

 

“Oh. So you’re not interested in Betty?”

 

Jughead bit his lip, looking out the window for the answer he’d hoped would come more readily to him. “I’m more worried about Archie.”

 

“That’s...well it’s almost a relief, sir. The way she was fretting last night to her friend, I thought she was about to have a nervous breakdown and leave town. Betty’s always felt a bit too much, I’m afraid. It’s best you end this infatuation as gracefully as you can so she can move on. Although, I suppose I’m to thank you for finally curing her of her obsession with Archie.”

 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t congratulate me on that one yet.”

 

// //

 

Jughead didn’t think he’d ever been more miserable watching his favorite films than stuck being incredibly close to a girl he wanted but shouldn’t touch. Talking during a double feature was sort of frowned upon and he wasn’t sure exactly how to start the awkward conversation anyway. Instead, he ate obscene amounts of popcorn, trying not to think about the way her body had fit so wonderfully around his on the back of the motorcycle, nor the way they couldn’t quite look each other in the eye, the new reservedness that tainted their every interaction. She’d even tried to back out of their little get-together until both of their fathers insisted that it would be good for them.

 

Betty shivered, huddling her sweater tighter around her shoulders. Unable to resist, Jughead pulled off his lined jacket and draped it out for her.

 

“No, no I’m fine,” she said, waving her hands. Jughead dangled the jacket more insistently. Sighing, she slipped into it, trying not to melt into the residual warmth it held. “Thank you,” she said tightly. Against her better judgment, she whispered a rumored bit of trivia about the reference onscreen. It made her feel like she was seeking his approval instead of sharing something smart, rooting her further in her shame spiral.

 

But Jughead’s smile flickered amidst the low light of the screen, and she swore it reminded her of the tennis courts, of the moonlight. She was bizarrely tempted to kiss him again. Distrusting her own instincts, she rolled a piece of popcorn over her mouth so as not to give in, not even when his warm breath was at her ear to add to the commentary.

 

She felt like she was falling in love with him. If the butterflies in her stomach and bubbling in her veins were anything to go by, she already was. But Archie had been her dream for so _long_ and that had turned out to be almost insultingly unromantic in reality. It felt impossible that amidst countless Parisian suitors and acquaintances that she would actually transfer her affections to his brother. _His brother!_ The boy who had been there on the worst night of her life, the one she’d envisioned as best man on her wedding day when she was a girl. More than that, he’d become a man she craved as a friend, a confidante. And a lover. The more time she spent with him, the more she craved his happiness and felt guilty for smothering it with her own desires.

 

Even his pinky crawling against the armrest made it hard for her to breathe properly, to focus on the movie with her heartbeat in her ears. And what about Archie? Was that all an infatuation? She’d pined for years, and now that he liked her back…she just threw him off for someone else? Did she even have any inkling of what love _was_? Or was love cheap and fluid, like Kevin suggested? She thought that admiring Archie through everything made her love richer, like wine. But what she wanted to feel for him, and around him, seemed almost silly now. Sailing and chatting with Jughead made her feel present, and challenged, and bright. Maybe feeling _seen_ was less satisfying than feeling _understood_.

 

Jughead seemed to empathize with her. Enjoy her. Even if she didn’t understand herself, or why he’d even like her in the first place.

 

“I’m sorry, I—I need some air,” she whispered, trying to ignore the concern in his eyes. She barely even registered the horror film onscreen.

 

“I’ll take you home.”

 

Jughead carefully gathered their snacks to deposit them in the trash basin and his pockets, never one to leave a mess for the help. She admired that about him. With one hand just-barely on her back, he led her to the bike. “I’m sorry if that scared you. I actually find that stuff kind of funny.”

 

“You find a person losing control to their impulses funny?”

 

Sighing, Jughead sat on the motorcycle, facing off to the side. “Look, Betty, I’m sorry. There’s a lot of stuff happening in my family and most of the time it’s my job to fix it or monitor it or whatever the hell I’m supposed to do each day. FP’s drinking, Fred’s naïveté, Archie’s general philandering, and now my…jealousy. Or anger. Or whatever the hell rich kids like me have to complain about. A lack of real friends.” He laughed, but it sounded bitter to his own ears. “I realize my problems are ridiculous compared to most of the world’s, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he had kept his beanie on. “Maybe I should go to Paris like you said. Spend a month there, just…write and relax and stop worrying about taking over the family business and making safe housing and—”

 

Betty grasped his hands in her own, forcing him to look up at her. “You should. Go to Paris. Meet amazing minds like yours. You can still change the world. You can work remotely on the safe housing project, but I think your family would support you, and you wouldn’t regret it, I promise.”

 

“You just trying to get rid of me, Betts?”

 

His small smile betrayed the wilt in his voice, the disappointment there. But she found herself looking down at their joined hands. “No.” He waited for her to elaborate, thumbs swiping under the sensitive flesh of her wrists. “I—I would miss you, terribly, I think. I might even go with you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yes.” She looked up, inhaling sharply at the gravity of the situation. “I mean—not _with you_ , with you.” Withdrawing her hands, Betty almost pushed her hair back into a ponytail before correcting her old habit and letting it fall back onto her shoulders. Like is stylish. Like it’s supposed to. “We can’t hurt Archie like that, right?”

 

“No,” he chuckled softly, sadly, thinking about the respect he had for Hal’s feelings, if not for Archie’s. “I guess we can’t.” Swallowing, he frowned, seemingly trying to find the right path of things to say. “Betty. You do…you do know about the Lodges, right?”

 

“Yes.” She dipped her knee, feeling awkward about Archie’s psuedo-fiancé, a woman she’d been feeling increasingly nervous about.

 

“They’re not exactly… _forgiving_ people. So, you and Archie may have to flee the coup for a while. Like, you may have to _move_ to Paris for a while to get away from that one. Even then…”

 

Betty’s gaze dipped lower, realizing what he meant. “His breakup with Miss Lodge would put a mark on his back and anyone suspected of hurting their family.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you suggest…do you want me to leave?” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. “I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

 

“Neither do I. And maybe you don’t have to. Maybe…maybe I could set something up. A study abroad, paid for by the family. We’ll put it under a false name, and in a month or two I can visit you guys and see how you’re settling in. I know moving in with Archie won’t be easy. As the guy who’s lived with him forever, I feel like I can say that, but—but maybe it’s your dream. Maybe it’s time.” Jughead shrugged, losing his train of thought, feeling adrift.

 

“That’s very generous of you, Juggie, but he’d still be in danger. _You’d_ be in danger.” She took a deep breath. He reached for her forearm, squeezing it gently. “It’s not worth the risk. I hope he sees that.”

 

“Nah,” he sniffed. “The Lodges can be reasoned with under the right angle. I’m sure we can scrounge up enough cash or vested interests. They love making contracts. I’ll just have to find the right ingredient to balance out the lack of a wedding party.”

 

Unsure how to respond, Betty crossed her arms. “Maybe after all this, I don’t deserve love. I could help Archie in Paris, of course, if he still chooses to leave Miss Lodge, but I can’t imagine some happy ending.”

 

Betty’s lip wobbled, so Jughead hurried on with a sarcastic lean. “Exile with Archie would be entertaining, at the very least. Don’t let him mix wines, because he has no idea what proofs mean or how to calculate them. Oh—and don’t bake him any bread, he’ll probably just say it’d ruin his figure. But…yeah. I can’t imagine he’d be in better hands.”

 

Betty chuckled, a tear dripping down her cheeks in earnest. “I feel like everything happened so fast. A few days ago, I got off the train and now...here we are talking about absconding off to Paris to avoid mob assassins.”

 

“I know,” he said, wanting to hug her, but not wanting to intrude. “You’ve had a rough go of it, Betts. You deserve to be happy.”

 

“So do you.” She wept, throwing her arms around him. “I don’t want you to have to fix anything anymore. You’ve become—you’ve always been a great man and a great friend.”

 

“We’re practically family, aren’t we, Betts?”

 

They held each other, her wet breath warm in his ear as he wondered how many fingers he’d have to sacrifice to the Lodges to keep them safe.

 

// //

 

Betty’s eyes were red when she tapped on Archie’s window. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, worriedly looking her over.

 

“Can I come in? Or can you come out?”

 

“Um, yeah!” Winding his custom robe closed, Archie padded out onto the patio. “What’s on your mind?”

 

Swallowing hard, Betty felt like she was drawing a carving knife right through the mural of what she thought every happiness would be. “I can’t be with you, Archie. I’m so sorry. I loved you for so long, but I—I guess I had it wrong.”

 

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

 

“I don’t know what kind of person I am, but I…I fell in love with someone else. Someone who always made me feel _seen_ , someone overlooked by _me._ For you, _wonderful_ , talented you, and I—I just can’t let them live the way I did, hoping for a better chance and sacrificing themselves to some fantasy. There’s no way he’d believe that I wasn’t choosing him for all the wrong reasons, much the way...well, you know what I mean. I don’t deserve you. Any of you. All that time in the city of love and I swore I’d never run from it, but I can’t see any other way that wouldn’t end in everyone feeling broken. Maybe that didn’t matter before, but it does—it does matter to me now. I’m going back to Paris. Alone. Even if you do break up with Miss Lodge, I don’t want it to be because of me. If you need help, of course I’ll do what I can. Here I am rambling about our nonexistent affair and you’re probably upset and I—”

 

“Hey, Betty, no,” Archie insisted, rubbing her arm. He was actually more worried than upset, considering the big picture. “Hey, it’s fine. I fell in love all the time when I was your age.”

 

Betty laughed, an ugly, wet thing, and wiped at her cheeks, wondering if Jughead would like that kind of laugh, too.

 

“You wouldn’t be so kind to me if you knew who it was.”

 

“Hey, I’d hate the guy, not you.”

 

That only served to make her cry harder in guilt.

 

“It’s fine. Seriously, Betts? I’ve been feeling better about my relationship with Ronnie ever since the champagne incident. She’s been paying more attention to me, listening to me, we’ve even had to spend a lot more time... _talking_ than we normally would. I think it’s gonna work out. We just show our passions in different ways. Trust me, everything will be okay.”

 

Betty tried to breathe, nodding into his tear-soaked robe. The manor windows glared yellow into the night.

 

// //

 

“Look, Arch, I know you’re almost all healed up and whatnot, but I wanted to talk to you about Betty.”

 

“Me too!” Archie practically bounced on his knees on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to sit yet, but he’d spent insane amounts of time attempting to learn how to do the worm. 

 

“Arch, could you listen to me? This is important. I need you to schedule your breakup with Veronica for tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow? Why?”

 

“Because that’s when you and Betty are getting on a plane to Paris.”

 

Archie stopped bouncing, furrowing his brow in confusion. “Why?”

 

“Because it’s the city for lovers. Obviously.” Jughead sounded like he was about to drop dead of exhaustion. “I’ll handle the clean-up after you’re gone. In fact, why not leave the breakup to me, too? That way everyone can shit on us here and you two will be long gone, able to enjoy your affair with crepes and baguettes and macaroons and—”

 

“Sounds like you want me to bring you back some food, Jug,” Archie smirked.

 

“Right. I’ll fly out once things have calmed down, and—”

 

“I’m not going to Paris with Betty.”

 

Jughead froze, ice in his veins. “Why the hell not?”

 

“It’s kinda last minute, don’t you think? Plus, I don’t know. Things with Ronnie are pretty good. The other day we were talking, and she _almost_ said _I love you_. When I asked her about it, she said that maybe she really did love me or she would’ve have helped change my dressings like she did. Not being able to do stuff for a little bit has actually improved our relationship. She’s been great. The other day—”

 

“So you’re just gonna ditch the girl who’s been in love with you half her life, who finally got you to like her back, on a _maybe_?! For someone whom a few days ago you almost ran out on?”

 

“What are you so mad about? I didn’t actually _do_ anything with Betty. Dad keeps yelling at me to treat Ronnie better, and now you’re all Team Betty?”

 

Fuming, Jughead slapped the tickets down on the table. “Because she’ll be _heartbroken_ , you skirt-chasing moron!”

 

“Doubt it,” Archie snorted, sliding back onto his feet.

 

“What do you mean, _doubt it?!_ ”

 

“She came up to me yesterday and basically told me it was over before it began...and...other stuff.” It wasn’t terribly upsetting that he got passed over for another man when he already had a girl by his side, but he certainly didn’t want to give Jughead any more ammo about the whole “ _fickle in passion”_ label they tried to put on him all the time. “I don’t know. Betty’s amazing. Maybe one day down the line, it’ll work out. But in the meantime, I think I might actually have a shot with Veronica.”

 

Too tired to work through the level of absolute bullshit that just came out of his brother’s mouth, Jughead ran a hand down his weary face, contemplating giving Archie some new stitches to worry about. “What do you mean _other stuff_? What other stuff? What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“She said I didn’t _see_ her, and she didn’t see something before, something about the big picture, but I’ll tell you—when she showed up in that dress?” Archie shook his head a little dreamily. “I wanted to see _everything_.”

 

“Oh, I see.” Jughead pressed his palm to his forehead, then slapped Archie’s. “She broke up with you because I warned her about Veronica.”

 

“What do you mean?” Archie asked, frowning and rubbing his pink skin.

 

“About the Lodges, about chopping fingers, about—shit! I’ll fix this. You’re getting on that plane!”

 

“No, dude, she told me—” Archie stopped himself, watching in wonder as his brother left without his hat for the third time that week, an astounded expression working up on his face. “There was someone else.”

 

// //

 

“Jughead!” Betty stepped back, shocked to see him in her father’s apartment, wide-eyed and desperate, hands clearly having wrung through his hair more than once.

 

Hal stood in his pressed pants and ironed shirt, jacket draped along the back of his chair. “It’s all right, Elizabeth. I’ve been talking with Jughead about your current predicament, and if you wanted to…” He took a deep breath, flexing his fist. “Go on holiday with Archibald, Jughead assured me it would be all expenses paid, and that he would behave as a perfect gentleman. For my part, he’s promised me security, company shares, and our name bought out of the papers for my continued loyalty. If this is the only way to get him out of your system—”

 

“I don’t want to go to Paris with Archie!” The two men in the living room looked at her as if she’d just told them she didn’t want to breathe. “I was choosing to go back on my own. You were right, I was naïve, and—”

 

“Is it because of the Lodges?”

 

Hal pressed forward. “Jughead assures me that—”

 

“It’s not _just_ because of the Lodges! Although maybe it should have been! Maybe that just shows how much of a fantasy I thought things could be. I don’t—” Her gaze darted nervously to Jughead. “I don’t love him anymore. Not like that. Maybe I never really did.” Confused, Jughead stared up at her. She felt the same prickly, melty looseness as that night he dropped her off after fainting. “I was just a kid, and I was scared and alone and he was nice to me and so surrounded by love that I felt like he was someone I should aspire to be with, to be loved by. But I’m—I don’t feel that way anymore. I wish him every happiness, but my heart belongs somewhere else.”

 

An uneasy tension drifted through the room.

 

“Can I—let me help you pack,” Jughead stuttered nervously, wiping his palms on his pants. Hal shot a concerned look between them, his silence indicating that at least he wasn’t going to stop them.

 

Her fingers nearly vibrated with the urge to curl them in on her palms as she led Jughead into her bedroom where her bags were half-packed, emptied of the gifts she’d brought for her friends.

 

“Thank you—for everything, for helping my father. But even in a world where there were no Lodges, no—” She hiccuped, already ashamed of herself, pushing past it into a smile. “I guess I just mean to say that I’m thankful for all your family has done for me over the years. I thought I’d come back and show how much better things were for me without realizing how twisted everything I wanted was.” Sighing, she traced the edge of her white dress with the flowers. Jughead’s fingers itched to do the same, if only to catch her hand in his.

 

“I don’t understand. I’d take care of everything. You’ve wanted this forever—”

 

“I don’t want it anymore, and what I do want is selfish. I was selfish that night you found me in the garage. I was selfish for not thinking of who would be crushed when I closed the space between the moon and myself. I was selfish, Jughead. I was selfish with you, and I still am, and you deserve at least one person in your life who sees you for all the goodness you do.”

 

“Like seducing a girl under the pretense of saving his family?” he scoffed, pushing back his hair, closing his eyes in pain.

 

Biting her lip, she pushed on the dress until it was safely tucked away into the trunk. “I don’t blame you, Jughead. Not for any of it. I had a wonderful time, and I’m sorry to have been such an inconvenience for you. I’ll go to Paris. Alone. On my own dime. And you can visit whenever you like—”

 

Jughead closed the distance between them. “I bought two tickets for Paris for tomorrow.” At her hesitation, he took a step forward, “Consider it a nonrefundable gift. You could take your father, if you wanted. Give him some well-deserved time off.”

 

She fixed him with a steady gaze. “But Paris is for lovers.”

 

“Then take me instead.” Riding on impulse, Jughead placed his hands on either side of her face, indulging in a deep, passionate kiss. They lingered, mouths seeking each other’s heat, arms wrapping tight around each other.

 

“Juggie,” she breathed, pushing her forehead against his. “I can’t. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I can’t be the reason you and your family are upset with one another. You have so much stress on you already, and I’ve been nothing but trouble—”

 

“Are you kidding? They’ll be so happy I found a girlfriend, let alone a smart, sweet, gorgeous one like you that they’ll probably try to throw us a party, society be damned.”

 

“And Archie? My affection for him may have been...misguided, but I’d hate for either of you to resent the other.”

 

“Come on.” Jughead grabbed her hand, dragging her past a bewildered Hal and into the house where Archie was strumming a guitar. He stood upon their entry, a serious expression on his face for once when Jughead appeared, fingers woven into Betty’s, and asked, “Do we have your blessing?”

 

Archie gestured with his chin. “So, he’s the guy you fell for, huh?”

 

Blushing under Jughead’s questioning gaze, Betty nodded.

 

“Damn. Didn’t think you had the moves, Jug.” When neither of them seemed to know what that meant, Archie burst out in a grin. “Can I play at your wedding?”

 

“You son of a bitch.” Jughead exhaled gratefully, letting go of Betty to give him a slap-on-the-back kind of hug. “I’m sorry for hitting on her when you were— _in love_ , by the way.”

 

“You owe me. Maybe another trip to Paris. For me and Ronnie this time,” he suggested, every bit outrageously sincere.

 

“If you can figure out how the hell to book your own tickets, maybe I will. Betty?” Jughead turned to her, hand outstretched. “What do you say? Want to join me on a writer’s retreat?”

 

“I’ll make you every dish I’ve learned.” She grinned, practically hopping into his arms.

 

“Wait, I want some of that,” Archie objected. “Like, not the snails. But the dessert?”

 

“Shut up, Archie.”

 

“What time is your flight?”

 

“Shut _up_ , Archie.”

 

“I’m calling Ronnie. We can all have drinks and dessert, Betty’s treat.”

 

Betty laughed, her arms around Jughead’s neck, the feeling even more magical than any dream of tennis courts and champagne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As tempting as it was to have Archie get punched in face, I settled for a forehead slap because Jughead has more important things to worry about like making sure Betty feels safe and capable to love whomever she wants. Oof I'm emotional. How are you? How do you picture their trip to France? Personally, I think they'd spend a lot of time holding hands and eating and um...other things. *cough* But this is a T rated fic so we won't get into that. You know I thrive on quotes and thoughts so if you're so inclined, please let me know how the story struck you! Thanks again to my beta @bugggghead for being so supportive and thank to all of you for the wonderful comments. I hope you've enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the fabulous cheerleader, friend, and beta @bugggghead for helping me navigate the tricky yet wonderfully nostalgic waters of this story with me. Thanks to @thetaoofbetty for reassuring me when I thought perhaps I should shelve the story altogether. Thoughts and comments are so reassuring and encouraging so please do let me know what you think. Fav lines/scenes/moods? What's your relationship to the original inspiration? How'd you like a little more reserved Jughead? What about a younger Betty? Comic characterizations in the Archieverse are crazy. Good, but crazy. How are you feeling?


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